All was arranged for the flight of the duke of Alençon, the king of Navarre, and the prince of Condé, from the court, in order to join the malecontents, and hoist the standard of opposition. Bands of troops were hovering round the palace of St. Germain, to protect their retreat. But the plot was disconcerted by the vigilance of Catherine of Medicis, the imprudence of some of the plotters, and the hesitation of the feeble-minded duke. At two in the morning, Catherine hurried the dying Charles from St. Germain to Paris in a litter, and placed guards over the duke and the king of Navarre; Condé, more prudent than his associates, had embraced the first opportunity to escape. There were some ludicrous circumstances connected with the hasty retreat to Paris. “The cardinals of Bourbon, Lorraine, and Guise,” says d’Aubigné, “the chancellor Birague, and Morvilliers and Bellièvre, were all mounted on Italian coursers, grasping with both hands their saddle bows, and as thoroughly frightened at their horses as at the enemy.” Contrasting strongly with this was the pitiable state of the monarch, with his frame debilitated, and all the weight of the St. Bartholomew on his soul, groaning, and mournfully exclaiming, “At least they might have waited till I was dead!” Indignant at what he called a foul conspiracy, the king ordered that a rigid enquiry should instantly be commenced. La Mole denied every thing; Coconas, on the contrary, disclosed all that he knew, and perhaps more. But the fate of the conspirators was sealed by the duke of Alençon, who made an ample confession, without even having attempted to stipulate for the lives of his confederates. Coconas and la Mole, who had been sent to the Bastile, were now brought to trial; and, by dint of legal sophistry, the project of bringing about the flight of the princes was construed into a design against the person of the king. Coconas and la Mole were condemned to be put to the torture, and then beheaded. “Poor la Mole!” exclaimed the latter, while he was suffering the first part of his sentence, “is there no way to obtain a pardon? The duke, my master, to whom I owe innumerable obligations, commanded me on my life to say nothing of what he was about to do. I answered, yes, sir, if you do nothing against the king.” The unfortunate man, like vast numbers at that period, had faith in magic arts. A waxen image, of which the heart was pierced through with a needle, had been found among his effects. On being questioned whether this was not meant to represent the king, and to be an instrument of tormenting his majesty, he replied that its only purpose was to inspire love in a lady, of whom he was deeply enamoured.