MAN PROPOSES BUT GOD DISPOSES.
As the duke had said to the young men, the most profound silence
reigned in the Louvre.
Marguerite and Madame de Nevers had departed for the Rue Tizon. Coconnas
and La Mole had followed them. The King and Henry were knocking about
the city. The Duc d'Alençon was in his room vaguely and anxiously
waiting for the events which the queen mother had predicted. Catharine
had gone to bed, and Madame de Sauve, seated by her, was reading some
Italian stories which greatly amused the good queen. Catharine had not
been in such good humor for a long time. Having done justice to a
collation with her ladies in waiting, having consulted her physician and
arranged the daily accounts of her household, she had ordered prayers
for the success of a certain enterprise, which she said was of great
importance to the happiness of her children. Under certain circumstances
it was Catharine's habit--a habit, for that matter, wholly
Florentine--to have prayers and masses read the object of which was
known only to God and herself.
Finally she had seen Réné, and had chosen several novelties from among
her rich collection of perfumed bags.
"Let me know," said Catharine, "if my daughter the Queen of Navarre is
in her rooms; and if she is there, beg her to come to me."
The page to whom this order was given withdrew, and an instant later he
returned, accompanied by Gillonne.
"Well!" said the queen mother, "I asked for the mistress, not the
servant."
"Madame," said Gillonne, "I thought I ought to come myself and tell your
majesty that the Queen of Navarre has gone out with her friend the
Duchesse de Nevers"--
"Gone out at this hour!" exclaimed Catharine, frowning; "where can she
have gone?"
"To a lecture on chemistry," replied Gillonne, "which is to be held in
the Hôtel de Guise, in the pavilion occupied by Madame de Nevers."
"When will she return?" asked the queen mother.
"The lecture will last until late into the night," replied Gillonne, "so
that probably her majesty will stay with her friend until to-morrow
morning."
"The Queen of Navarre is happy," murmured Catharine; "she has friends
and she is queen; she wears a crown, is called your majesty, yet has no
subjects. She is happy indeed."
After this remark, which made her listeners smile inwardly:
"Well," murmured Catharine, "since she has gone out--for she has gone,
you say?"
"Half an hour ago, madame."
"Everything is for the best; you may go."
Gillonne bowed and left.
"Go on with your reading, Charlotte," said the queen.
Madame de Sauve continued. At the end of ten minutes Catharine
interrupted the story.
"Ah, by the way," said she, "have the guards dismissed from the
corridor."
This was the signal for which Maurevel was waiting. The order of the
queen mother was carried out, and Madame de Sauve went on with her
story. She had read for about a quarter of an hour without any
interruption, when a prolonged and terrible scream reached the royal
chamber and made the hair of those present stand on end.
The scream was followed by the sound of a pistol-shot.
"What is it?" said Catharine; "why do you stop reading, Carlotta?"
"Madame," said the young woman, turning pale, "did you not hear?"
"What?" asked Catharine.
"That cry."
"And that pistol-shot?" added the captain of the guards.
"A cry, a pistol-shot?" asked Catharine; "I heard nothing. Besides, is a
shout or a pistol-shot such a very unusual thing at the Louvre? Read,
read, Carlotta."
"But listen, madame," said the latter, while Monsieur de Nancey stood
up, his hand on his sword, but not daring to leave without permission
from the queen, "listen, I hear steps, curses."
"Shall I go and find out about it, madame?" said De Nancey.
"Not at all, monsieur, stay where you are," said Catharine, raising
herself on one hand to give more emphasis to her order. "Who, then,
would protect me in case of an alarm? It is only some drunken Swiss
fighting."
The calmness of the queen, contrasted with the terror on the faces of
all present, was so remarkable that, timid as she was, Madame de Sauve
fixed a questioning glance on the queen.
"Why, madame, I should think they were killing some one."
"Whom do you think they are killing?"
"The King of Navarre, madame; the noise comes from the direction of his
apartments."
"The fool!" murmured the queen, whose lips in spite of her self-control
were beginning to move strangely, for she was muttering a prayer; "the
fool sees her King of Navarre everywhere."
"My God! my God!" cried Madame de Sauve, falling back in her chair.
"It is over, it is over," said Catharine. "Captain," she continued,
turning to Monsieur de Nancey, "I hope if there is any scandal in the
palace you will have the guilty ones severely punished to-morrow. Go on
with your reading, Carlotta." And Catharine sank back on her pillow with
a calmness that greatly resembled weakness, for those present noticed
great drops of perspiration rolling down her face.
Madame de Sauve obeyed this formal order, but her eyes and her voice
were mere machines. Her thoughts wandered to other things which
represented a terrible danger hanging over a loved head. Finally, after
struggling on for several minutes, she became so oppressed between her
feelings and etiquette that her words became unintelligible, the book
fell from her hands, and she fainted.
Suddenly a louder noise was heard; a quick, heavy step fell on the
corridor, two pistol-shots shook the windows; and Catharine, astonished
at the interminable struggle, rose in terror, erect, pale, with dilating
eyes. As the captain of the guard was about to hurry out, she stopped
him, saying:
"Let every one remain here. I myself will go and see what is the
matter."
This is what was taking place, or rather what had taken place. That
morning De Mouy had received the key of Henry's room from the hands of
Orthon. In this key, which was piped, he had noticed a roll of paper. He
drew it out with a pin. It was the password of the Louvre for that
night.
Besides, Orthon had verbally transmitted to him the words of Henry,
asking De Mouy to come to the king at ten o'clock in the Louvre.
At half-past nine De Mouy put on a suit of armor, the strength of which
he had already more than once had occasion to test; over this he
buttoned a silk doublet, fastened on his sword, put his pistols in his
belt, and over everything threw the red cloak of La Mole.
We have seen how, before going back to his rooms, Henry had thought best
to pay a visit to Marguerite, and how he arrived by the secret stairway
just in time to run against La Mole in Marguerite's sleeping-room, and
to appear in the dining-room before the King. It was at that very moment
when, thanks to the password sent by Henry, and above all to the famous
red cloak, that De Mouy passed under the gate of the Louvre.
The young man went directly to the apartments of the King of Navarre,
imitating as well as he could, as was his habit, the gait of La Mole. He
found Orthon waiting for him in the antechamber.
"Sire de Mouy," said the mountaineer, "the king has gone out, but he
told me to admit you, and to tell you to wait for him. If he should be
late in returning, he wants you, you know, to lie down on his bed."
De Mouy entered without asking for further explanation, for what Orthon
had just told him was only the repetition of what he had already heard
that morning. In order to pass away the time he took a pen and ink and,
approaching a fine map of France which hung on the wall, he set to work
to count and determine the stopping-places between Paris and Pau. But
this was only the work of a quarter of an hour, and then De Mouy did not
know what to do.
He made two or three rounds of the room, rubbed his eyes, yawned, sat
down, got up, and sat down again. Finally, taking advantage of Henry's
invitation, and the familiarity which existed between princes and their
gentlemen, he placed his pistols and the lamp on a table, stretched
himself out on the great bed with the sombre hangings which furnished
the rear of the room, laid his sword by his side, and, sure of not being
surprised since a servant was in the adjoining room, he fell into a
pleasant sleep, the noise of which soon made the vast canopy ring with
its echoes. De Mouy snored like a regular old soldier, and in this he
could have vied with the King of Navarre himself.
It was then that six men, their swords in their hands and their knives
at their belts, glided silently into the corridor which communicated by
a small door with the apartments of Catharine and by a large one with
those of Henry.
One of the six men walked ahead of the others. Besides his bare sword
and his dagger, which was as strong as a hunting-knife, he carried his
faithful pistols fastened to his belt by silver hooks.
This man was Maurevel. Having reached Henry's door, he stopped.
"Are you perfectly sure that the sentinels are not in the corridor?" he
asked of the one who apparently commanded the little band.
"Not a single one is at his post," replied the lieutenant.
"Very good," said Maurevel. "Now there is nothing further except to find
out one thing--that is, if the man we are looking for is in his room."
"But," said the lieutenant, arresting the hand which Maurevel had laid
on the handle of the door, "but, captain, these apartments are those of
the King of Navarre."
"Who said they were not?" asked Maurevel.
The guards looked at one another in amazement, and the lieutenant
stepped back.
"What!" exclaimed he, "arrest some one at this hour, in the Louvre, and
in the apartments of the King of Navarre?"
"What should you say," said Maurevel, "were I to tell you that the one
you are about to arrest is the King of Navarre himself?"
"I should say, captain, that it is serious business and that without an
order signed by King Charles IX."--
"Read this," said Maurevel.
And drawing from his doublet the order which Catharine had given him he
handed it to the lieutenant.
"Very well," replied the latter after he had read it. "I have nothing
further to say."
"And you are ready?"
"I am ready."
"And you?" continued Maurevel, turning to the other five sbirros.
They all saluted respectfully.
"Listen to me, then, gentlemen," said Maurevel; "this is my plan: two of
you will remain at this door, two at the door of the sleeping-room, and
two will go with me."
"Afterwards?" said the lieutenant.
"Pay close attention to this: we are ordered to prevent the prisoner
from calling out, shouting, or resisting. Any infraction of this order
is to be punished by death."
"Well, well, he has full permission," said the lieutenant to the man
chosen by him to follow Maurevel into the king's room.
"Full," said Maurevel.
"Poor devil of the King of Navarre!" said one of the men. "It was
written above that he should not escape this."
"And here too," said Maurevel, taking Catharine's order from the hands
of the lieutenant and returning it to his breast.
Maurevel inserted the key Catharine had given him into the lock, and
leaving two men at the outer door, as had been agreed on, he entered the
antechamber with the four others.
"Ah! ah!" said Maurevel, hearing the noisy breathing of the sleeper, the
sound of which reached even as far as that, "it seems that we shall find
what we are looking for."
Orthon, thinking it was his master returning, at once started up and
found himself face to face with five armed men in the first chamber.
At sight of the sinister face of Maurevel, who was called the King's
Slayer, the faithful servant sprang back, and placing himself before the
second door:
"Who are you?" said he, "and what do you want?"
"In the King's name," replied Maurevel, "where is your master?"
"My master?"
"Yes, the King of Navarre."
"The King of Navarre is not in his room," said Orthon, barring the door
more than ever, "so you cannot enter."
"Excuses, lies!" said Maurevel. "Come, stand back!"
The Béarnais people are stubborn; this one growled like one of his own
mountain dogs, and far from being intimidated:
"You shall not enter," said he; "the king is out."
And he clung to the door.
Maurevel made a sign. The four men seized the stubborn servant, snatched
him from the door-sill to which he was clinging, and as he started to
open his mouth and cry out, Maurevel clapped a hand to his lips.
Orthon bit furiously at the assassin, who dropped his hand with a dull
cry, and brought down the handle of his sword on the head of the
servant. Orthon staggered and fell back, shouting, "Help! help! help!"
Then his voice died away. He had fainted.
The assassins stepped over his body, two stopped at the second door, and
two entered the sleeping-room with Maurevel.
In the glow of the lamp burning on the night table they saw the bed.
The curtains were drawn.
"Oh! oh!" said the lieutenant, "he has stopped snoring, apparently."
"Be quick!" cried Maurevel.
At this, a sharp cry, resembling the roar of a lion rather than a human
voice, came from behind the curtains, which were violently thrown back,
and a man appeared sitting there armed with a cuirass, his head covered
with a helmet which reached to his eyes. Two pistols were in his hand,
and his sword lay across his knees.
No sooner did Maurevel perceive this figure and recognize De Mouy than
he felt his hair rise on end; he became frightfully pale, foam sprang to
his lips, and he stepped back as if he had come face to face with a
ghost. Suddenly the armed figure rose and stepped forward as Maurevel
drew back, so that from the position of threatener, the latter now
became the one threatened, and _vice versa_.
"Ah, scoundrel!" cried De Mouy, in a dull voice, "so you have come to
murder me as you murdered my father!"
The two guards who had entered the room with Maurevel alone heard these
terrible words. As they were uttered a pistol was placed to Maurevel's
forehead. The latter sank to his knees just as De Mouy put his hand on
the trigger; the shot was fired and one of the guards who stood behind
him and whom he had unmasked by this movement dropped to the floor,
struck to the heart. At the same instant Maurevel fired back, but the
ball glanced off De Mouy's cuirass.
Then, measuring the distance, De Mouy sprang forward and with the edge
of his broadsword split open the head of the second guard, and turning
towards Maurevel crossed swords with him.
The struggle was brief but terrible. At the fourth pass Maurevel felt
the cold steel in his throat. He uttered a stifled cry and fell
backwards, upsetting the lamp, which went out in the fall.
At once De Mouy, strong and agile as one of Homer's heroes, took
advantage of the darkness and sprang, with head lowered, into the
antechamber, knocked down one guard, pushed aside the other, and shot
like an arrow between those at the outer door. He escaped two
pistol-shots, the balls of which grazed the wall of the corridor, and
from that moment was safe, for one loaded pistol still was left him,
besides the sword which had dealt such terrible blows.
For an instant he hesitated, undecided whether to go to Monsieur
d'Alençon's, the door of whose room he thought had just opened, or to
try and escape from the Louvre. He determined on the latter course,
continued on his way, slow at first, jumped ten steps at a time, and
reaching the gate uttered the two passwords and rushed on, shouting out:
"Go upstairs; there is murder going on by order of the King."
Taking advantage of the amazement produced on the sentinel by his words
and the sound of the pistol-shots, he ran on and disappeared in the Rue
du Coq without having received a scratch.
It was at this moment that Catharine stopped the captain of the guards,
saying:
"Stay here; I myself will go and see what is the matter."
"But, madame," replied the captain, "the danger your majesty runs
compels me to follow you."
"Stay here, monsieur," said Catharine, in a still more imperious tone,
"stay here. There is a more powerful protection around kings than the
human sword."
The captain remained where he was.
Taking a lamp, Catharine slipped her bare feet into a pair of velvet
slippers, left her room, and reaching the corridor, still full of smoke,
advanced as impassible and as cold as a shadow towards the apartments of
the King of Navarre.
Silence reigned supreme.
Catharine reached the door, crossed the threshold, and first saw Orthon,
who had fainted in the antechamber.
"Ah! ah!" said she, "here is the servant; further on we shall probably
find the master." She entered the second door.
Then her foot ran against a corpse; she lowered her lamp; it was the
guard who had had his head split open. He was quite dead.
A few feet further on the lieutenant, who had been struck by a bullet,
was drawing his last breath.
Finally, before the bed lay a man whose face was as pale as death and
who was bleeding from a double wound in his throat. He was clinching his
hands convulsively in his efforts to rise.
It was Maurevel.
Catharine shuddered. She saw the empty bed, she looked around the room
seeking in vain for the body she hoped to find among the three corpses.
Maurevel recognized Catharine. His eyes were horribly dilated and he
made a despairing gesture towards her.
"Well," said she in a whisper, "where is he? what has happened?
Unfortunate man! have you let him escape?"
Maurevel strove to speak, but an unintelligible sound came from his
throat, a bloody foam covered his lips, and he shook his head in sign of
inability and pain.
"Speak!" cried Catharine, "speak! if only one word!"
Maurevel pointed to his wound, again made several inarticulate gasps,
which ended in a hoarse rattle, and fainted.
Catharine looked around her. She was surrounded by the bodies of dead
and dying; blood flowed in every direction, and the silence of death
hovered over everything.
Once again she spoke to Maurevel, but failed to rouse him; he was not
only silent but motionless; a paper was in his doublet. It was the order
of arrest signed by the King. Catharine seized it and hid it in her
breast. Just then she heard a light step behind her, and turning, she
saw the Duc d'Alençon at the door. In spite of himself he had been drawn
thither by the noise, and the sight before him fascinated him.
"You here?" said she.
"Yes, madame. For God's sake what has happened?"
"Go back to your room, François; you will know soon enough."
D'Alençon was not as ignorant of the affair as Catharine supposed.
At the sound of the first steps in the corridor he had listened. Seeing
some men enter the apartments of the King of Navarre, and by connecting
this with some words Catharine had uttered, he had guessed what was
about to take place, and was rejoiced at having so dangerous an enemy
destroyed by a hand stronger than his own. Before long the noises of
pistol-shots and the rapid steps of a man running had attracted his
attention, and he had seen disappearing in the light space caused by the
opening of the door leading to the stairway the red cloak too well known
not to be recognized.
"De Mouy!" he cried, "De Mouy in the apartments of the King of Navarre!
Why, that is impossible! Can it be Monsieur de la Mole?"
He grew alarmed. Remembering that the young man had been recommended to
him by Marguerite herself, and wishing to make sure that it was he whom
he had just seen, he ascended hurriedly to the chamber of the two young
men. It was vacant. But in a corner he found the famous red cloak
hanging against the wall. His suspicions were confirmed. It was not La
Mole, but De Mouy. Pale and trembling lest the Huguenot should be
discovered, and would betray the secrets of the conspiracy, he rushed to
the gate of the Louvre. There he was told that the red cloak had escaped
safe and sound, shouting out as he passed that some one was being
murdered in the Louvre by order of the King.
"He is mistaken," murmured D'Alençon; "it is by order of the queen
mother."
Returning to the scene of combat, he found Catharine wandering like a
hyena among the dead.
At the order from his mother the young man returned to his rooms,
affecting calmness and obedience, in spite of the tumultuous thoughts
which were passing through his mind.
In despair at the failure of this new attempt, Catharine called the
captain of the guards, had the bodies removed, gave orders that
Maurevel, who was only wounded, be carried to his home, and told them
not to waken the King.
"Oh!" she murmured, as she returned to her rooms, her head sunk on her
bosom, "he has again escaped. The hand of God is over this man. He will
reign! he will reign!"
Entering her room, she passed her hand across her brow, and assumed an
ordinary smile.
"What was the matter, madame?" asked every one except Madame de Sauve,
who was too frightened to ask any questions.
"Nothing," replied Catharine; "a noise, that was all."
"Oh!" cried Madame de Sauve, suddenly pointing to the floor, "your
majesty says there is nothing the matter, and every one of your
majesty's steps leaves a trace of blood on the carpet!"