Now the long day is drawing to a close; the sun is low on the horizon and the tournament is over. The King, who has fought like the son of Francis I., and broken the lances of the Ducs de Ferrara, Guise, and Nemours, has retired from the lists into his tent to unarm. The young princes have dismounted and ascended into the dais beside their mother and the brides. Catherine breathes again; the King is safe--her dream but the coinage of her brain! But hark! the faint sound of a trumpet is heard, proceeding from the extremity of the long street of Saint-Antoine. The Queen grows pale and bends her ear to listen. The sound comes nearer; it becomes more distinct at each fresh blast. Now it is at hand, and as the shrill and ill-omened notes strike her ear, a herald advances preceded by a trumpeter, and announces that a masked knight has arrived and challenges his Majesty to break a lance with him in honour of his lady. The masked knight, habited entirely in black armour, rides into the arena. Certain of the fatal event, the Queen rises abruptly from her seat. Her countenance expresses absolute terror. She beckons hastily to the Comte d’O, who is in attendance. “Go,” says she in a low voice, speaking rapidly; “go at once to the King. Tell him if he fights with this stranger he will die!--tell him so from me. Haste! for the love of the Virgin, haste!” No sooner has the Comte d’O left her, than, leaning over the dais, Catherine, with clasped hands and eager eyes, watches him as he crosses the enclosure. She sees him parley with the King, who is replacing his casque and arranging his armour. Henry laughs. The Queen turns to the young Comte de la Molle, who is near--“Call up hither his Majesty to me instantly. Tell him he must come up to me here before he enters the lists. It is for life or death--the life of the King. Go! fly!” This second messenger crosses to where Henry is just mounting on horseback. “Alas! alas! he does not heed my messenger. Let me go,” cries the Queen in the most violent agitation; “I will myself descend and speak with his Majesty.” She rushes forward through the astonished courtiers to where a flight of steps leads below into the enclosure. As her foot is on the topmost stair, she sees the King gallop forth, fully equipped, in face of the masked knight. The Queen is ashy pale, her large eyes are fixed on the King, her white lips tremble. She stands motionless, supported by the balustrade. Her daughters, the brides, and her ladies gather round her, full of wonder. By a great effort she masters her agitation, and slowly turns back into a retiring-room behind the dais, and seats herself on her chair of state. Then with solemn gesture she addresses herself to the princesses--