This prudent counsel was, however, strenuously opposed. It was contended that, in whatever light the question was viewed, the culprit ought to die. Supposing the plot to be a reality, his death would terrify his associates; his being suffered to live might drive them to rebellion through despair. If, on the contrary, his tale were false, death ought to punish the calumny; and the more so because, if impunity were granted to him, resentment, at being unjustly suspected, might provoke innocent persons to become really criminal. The motive which prompted many to insist on the latter mode of proceeding cannot be mistaken; they were pleading for their own lives, or the lives of their friends. The weakness of their reasoning is so evident as to need no exposure. It was not by stifling inquiry that the monarch could hope to neutralize or convert his enemies. History does, indeed, record instances where it was wise as well as generous to throw the veil of oblivion over an incipient plot, and save the plotters from the necessity of becoming open rebels; but this was not a case of the kind. The plotters against Henry were irreclaimable, and, ascribing his conduct to fear and not to mildness, would only be encouraged to persist in their destructive projects. When justice has pronounced upon the criminal, then is the time for a sovereign to show mercy; and, if he have a human heart, he will set no other bounds to his clemency than those which are imperatively prescribed by the safety of the state. But he who shrinks from prosecuting a traitor offers a premium for the growth of treason. Henry, nevertheless, decided otherwise. He adopted the opinion of those who were for sending Salcede to the scaffold. In thus following their insidious advice, he was not influenced by principle or mistaken policy; he was mainly actuated by a childish impatience, an eagerness to get rid of a disagreeable subject, which interrupted his contemptible pleasures. Like the stupid bird, which hopes to baffle its pursuers by hiding its head, he seems to have thought that if danger were out of sight it could not reach him. He had, however, another and an equally mean reason for his decision; the wish to mortify de Thou. The president had recently offended him by a virtuous and truly loyal act. Dreading the effect which would be produced by the king’s incessant edicts to extort money, he implored him to pause, lest poverty and despair should drive the people to resistance. Instead of profiting by this patriotic warning, Henry turned round to his train of flatterers, and sneeringly exclaimed, “The poor man is in a state of dotage!” He was righteously punished for his scorn of honest and prudent counsel. Ere many years had gone by, he was taught to lament with tears the loss of this doting magistrate, and to confess that, had de Thou lived, Paris would never have revolted.