The king-at-arms cried aloud on the threshold of the apartment, according to ancient ceremonial,-- "The king is dead! The king is dead! The king is dead! Pray God for the salvation of his soul!" "Long live the king!" replied the first gentleman of the chamber. At the same moment Madame de Fiesque brought the Duc d'Orléans to the queen-mother's side, who took him by the hand, and led him out to show to the courtiers, who were lustily shouting,-- "Long live our good king, Charles IX.!" "Our fortunes are at an end now!" said the cardinal, gloomily, to his brother, as they were left standing almost alone. "Ours, perhaps, but not that of our family," replied the ambitious Duc de Guise. "We must think now about preparing the way for my son." "How can we renew our alliance with the queen-mother?" "Oh, let us leave her to quarrel with her Bourbons and her Huguenots," said Le Balafré. They left the room by a secret door, still busily conversing. "Alas! alas!" murmured Mary Stuart, kissing the cold hand of poor François; "there is no one but me to weep for him, my poor darling, who loved me so dearly." "And me, Madame," said Gabriel de Montgommery, who had thus far kept in the background, but now came forward with tears in his eyes. "Oh, thanks, my friend!" said Mary, with a grateful look in which her whole soul shone out. "And I will do more than weep," said Gabriel, beneath his breath, following from afar, with an angry eye, the Constable de Montmorency, who was strutting about beside Catherine de Médicis. "Yes, perhaps I may avenge him, when I begin anew the unfinished work of my own vengeance. Now that this constable has returned to power, the contest between us is not at an end!" Thus, even in the presence of death Gabriel, alas! kept in view his personal affairs. Surely Regnier la Planche was right in saying "that it is a bad thing to be king simply to die." And he was equally right when he added, "During the reign of François II. France was the theatre whereon were enacted many horrible tragedies which posterity will contemplate with wonder and abhorrence." CHAPTER XXXIV ADIEU, FRANCE! On the 15th of August, 1561, eight months after the demise of François II., Mary Stuart was at Calais, on the point of taking her departure for her Scottish kingdom. During these eight months she had been engaged in an unceasing struggle, day by day and hour by hour, with Catherine de Médicis and with her uncles as well, who were as impatient as the regent, though for different reasons, to have her well away from France; but Mary found it hard to make up her mind to leave behind her that fair land where she had been a queen, so happy and so well beloved. Even in the sorrowful memories which recalled her premature widowhood, these loved spots held for her a poetic charm which made it difficult for her to tear herself away.