“Madame,” replies Ruggiero, quite unmoved by her violence, rising from his stool, and moving towards the wall, “you yourself shall see the future that awaits them.” He withdraws a black curtain covering an arched recess and revealed a magic mirror. “The kings your sons, madame, shall pass before you. Each shall reign as many years as he makes the circuit of that dark chamber you see reflected on the polished steel. There is your eldest son, Francis. See how feebly he moves, how pale he looks. He never lived to be a man. Twice he slowly passes round, and he is gone. The next is Charles, ninth of that name. Thirteen times he turns around, and as he moves a mist of blood gathers about him. Look, it thickens--it hides him. He shall reign thirteen years, and die a bloody death, having caused much blood to flow. Here is Henri, Duc d’Anjou, who shall succeed him. A few circuits, and then behold--a muffled figure--a monk, springs on him from behind. He falls and vanishes.” There is a pause. “What! Cosmo,” whispers Catherine, who stood supporting herself on the back of a high chair opposite the magic mirror. “Francis, Charles, Henry are gone, but do they leave no child?” “None, madame.” “Where, then, is D’Alençon, my youngest boy? Let me see him.” “Madame,” falters Ruggiero, “his highness is not destined to reign. The successor of your sons is before you”; and on the magic glass rises up, clear and distinct, the image of the King of Navarre. With strong, firm steps he circles the mystic chamber of life twenty times. As he passes on the twenty-first round, a mist gathers round him; he falls and vanishes. At the sight of Henry of Navarre, the Queen’s composure utterly forsakes her. She trembles from head to foot and sinks into a chair. A sombre fire shoots from her eyes. “I will take care _that_ shall never be!” gasps she, unable to speak with rage. After a few moments she rose, took up her light, and without one other word descended as she had come. CHAPTER XVII. AT CHENONCEAU. The Château of Chenonceau, so greatly coveted by Catherine de’ Medici in her youth, still remains to us. It lies in a rural district of the Touraine, far from cities and the traffic of great thoroughfares. Spared, from its isolated position, by the First Revolution, this monument of the Renaissance, half palace half château, is as beautiful as ever--a picturesque mass of pointed turrets, glistening spires, perpendicular roofs, lofty pavilions, and pillared arches. It is partly built over the river Cher, at once its defence and its attraction. Henry II., as also his father, Francis, who specially loved this sunny _plaisance_ and often visited it in company with his daughter-in-law, Catherine, and his mistress, the Duchesse d’Étampes, had both lavished unknown sums on its embellishment.