“I do not want to die,” he wailed. “I am King. Why should a King die?” He stopped and beckoned to Cipierre. “Monsieur,” he said, as the Vicomte approached, “you are a brave soldier; you have fought many battles. You must save your King from death.” The veteran half turned away as he answered: “I, and all your soldiers, my King, would die to save you.” “Then you will not let death come? It comes in the dark, monsieur; that is why I always have these lights. You must not let death come. You must stand there! There!” He pointed to the foot of the bed, and went on: “And my guards, who would die for me, must stand around, then death will not touch the King of France.” I saw the features of the old war-wolf work convulsively as he bowed before the King and muttered hoarsely, “It shall be done.” There was no word spoken now. There was nothing to say. The lights burned brightly on the pallid features of the boy, who had flung himself back amid his pillows, and wearily closed his eyes. We stood still, looking at each other in silence. I saw Catherine and René exchange a glance, and then from behind us came a single, half-suppressed sob. It was from the heart of the fair young Queen, as, with a quick, sudden movement, she turned and passed into an inner apartment. And the Medicis spoke now in her icy, measured voice: “Messieurs, the King sleeps.” CHAPTER XVI THE KING’S SIGNET BOWING low, we stepped from the King’s bedside and moved toward the door, Catherine stopping Sancerre to give a last injunction: “You will leave by the private way, through my apartments--tell Bentivoglio.” She was answered in an undertone, so that I could not catch the speech, and the next moment we re-entered the ante-chamber, closely followed by René. Those whom we had left were still there, in curious expectation; but René repeated to them the words of the Medicis, “The King sleeps,” and there followed the murmurs of low converse, and a subdued bustle of departure, only those remaining whose duties required them to stay--a page or so, the officer of the night, and the archers at the door. Bentivoglio and Richelieu moved together toward us, and Sancerre, whispering Catherine’s command in the chamberlain’s ear, turned to Richelieu and said: “Monsieur! You will await Her Majesty the Queen-Mother here.” A dark shade gathered on Richelieu’s brow. “I command the guards in the galleries,” he answered. “Monsieur de Baillieul”--and he indicated a tall, grim-looking soldier who stood stiffly, a little apart from the others--“is on duty here to-night.” “You do not follow me, Monsieur de Richelieu,” said Sancerre. “I said your orders were to await Her Majesty. It remains for you to obey or not,” and with that the old count swung round on his heel and moved forward to the stairway, leaving Richelieu biting his moustache with anger.