“Ah, my friend,” said he to Sully, “how this ceremony of the coronation distresses me. Whenever I think about it I cannot shake off sinister forebodings. Alas! I fear I shall never live to head my army. I shall die in this city of Paris. I shall never see the Princesse de Condé again. Ah, cursed coronation! I shall die while they are about it. Bassompierre tells me the maypole, which was set up in the court of the Louvre, has just fallen down. It is an evil omen.” “Well, Sire,” returned Sully, “postpone the ceremony.” “No, Sully, no; it shall not be said that Henry IV. trembled before an idle prophecy. For twenty years, Sully, I have heard of predictions of my death. After all, nothing will happen to me but what is ordained.” “My God, Sire!” exclaimed Sully, “I never heard your Majesty speak so before. Countermand the coronation, I entreat you. Let the Queen not be crowned at all rather than lose your peace of mind. What does it matter? It is but a woman’s whim.” “Ah, Sully, what will my wife say? I dare not approach her unless I keep my word;--her heart is so set upon being crowned.” “Let her say what she pleases, Sire; never heed her. Allow me to persuade her Majesty to postpone the ceremony.” “Try, Sully; try, if you please:--you will find what the Queen is. She will not consent to put it off.” The King spoke truly. Marie de’ Medici flew into a violent rage, and positively refused to listen to any postponement whatever. The coronation was fixed to take place on Thursday, the 13th of May. It is certain that the King was distinctly warned of his approaching death. The very day and hour were marked with a cross of blood in an almanack sent to him anonymously. A period of six hours on the 14th of May was marked as fatal to him. If he survived that time, on that day--a Friday--he was safe. The day named for his death was that preceding the public entry of the Queen into Paris, after her coronation at Saint-Denis. He rose at six o’clock in the morning on that day, Friday, the 14th of May. On his way down-stairs, he was met by the Duc de Vendôme, his son by Gabrielle d’Estrées. Vendôme held in his hand a paper, which he had found lying on his table. It was a horoscope, signed by an astrologer called La Brosse, warning the King that the constellation under which he was born threatened him with great danger on the 14th of May. “My father,” said Vendôme, standing in his path, “do not go abroad; spend this day at home.” “La Brosse, my boy,” replied Henry, looking at the paper, “is an old fox. Do you not see that he wants money? You are a young fool to mind him. My life is in the hands of God, my son,--I shall live or die as he pleases,--let me pass.”