“But, Henry,” gasps Catherine, trembling from weakness and excitement, as she clasps her son’s hand, “have you taken measures to assure yourself of the cities? Have you communicated with the Holy Father? Do this, do it at once!” “Madame, good measures have been taken; trouble not yourself further.” “But, my son,” continues Catherine with increasing agitation, “the Cardinal de Guise has been here to visit me; they are full of suspicion. The Cardinal says that I have betrayed them. I replied, ‘May I die, my cousin, if I have anything to do with any treason whatever.’ My son, I am in great agony,” and she groans and turns her eyes glowing with fever full upon him; “do not listen to D’Epernon; let there be peace while I live, and after.” “What!” cries Henry, disengaging himself from her and striding up and down the room. “What! spare, when Guise, triumphant among the citizens of Paris, dared to lay his hand on the hilt of his sword in our very presence at the Louvre! Spare him who drove me a fugitive from the capital! Spare the chief of the League, who, assisted by Spain, is dismembering France! Spare them, when they will both be within this castle to-night, to attend the council! Spare _them_ who never spared ME! No, my mother, I will NOT spare them! Your sickness has weakened your courage. ‘A nut for a nut’ was once your motto. It is mine. If the Balafré and the Cardinal enter these doors to-morrow they shall not go hence alive; they shall die like rebels as they are.” “Alas! my son,” says the Queen in a very low voice,--she has fallen back exhausted upon the bed,--“alas! it is easy to cut the thread of life; but once cut, can you mend it? Shed no more blood, Henry, for my sake, for I am dying. Let my last hour be undisturbed. I have much that troubles me,” and she heaves a deep sigh. “Too much blood has flowed already. Spare them, Henry, spare them.” “My mother, _you_ never spared an enemy when within your power, nor will I. Either Guise or I must die. You have taught me that all means are good to save the sovereign and support his authority. My brother Charles, by your order, spared not Coligni and massacred the Huguenots at the festival of St. Bartholomew. _I helped him._ The Guises, madame, must die.” “But, my son,” replies Catherine, wringing her bony hands, and struggling again to raise herself upright, “it is sacrilege. You have sworn peace upon the altar; you have eaten together the body of the Lord.” Catherine’s voice is so feeble, that the King either does not hear, or does not heed her. He still strides up and down the room, speaking from time to time as if to himself.