"No," the king exclaimed, throwing his arquebuse on the floor. "No; the obstinate blockhead will not consent!" Catherine gave a glance at Henry which Charles understood perfectly, and which said, "Why, then, is he alive?" "He lives," said the king, "because he is my relative." Henry felt that it was with Catherine he had to contend. "Madame," he said, addressing her, "I can see quite clearly that all this comes from you and not from brother-in-law Charles. It was you who planned this massacre to ensnare me into a trap which was to destroy us all. It was you who made your daughter the bait. It has been you who have separated me now from my wife, that she might not see me killed before her eyes!" "Yes; but that shall not be!" cried another voice; and Marguerite, breathless and impassioned, burst into the room. "Sir," said Marguerite to Henry, "your last words were an accusation, and were both right and wrong. They have made me the means for attempting to destroy you, but I was ignorant that in marrying me you were going to destruction. I myself owe my life to chance, for this very night they all but killed me in seeking you. Directly I knew of your danger I sought you. If you are exiled, sir, I will be exiled too; if they imprison you they shall imprison me also; if they kill you, I will also die!" She gave her hand to her husband and he seized it eagerly. "Brother," cried Marguerite to Charles IX., "remember, you made him my husband!" "Faith, Margot is right, and Henry is my brother-in-law," said the king. _II.--The Boar Hunt_ As time went on, if Catherine's hatred of Henry of Navarre did not diminish, Charles IX. certainly became more friendly. Catherine was for ever intriguing and plotting for the fortune of her sons and the downfall of her son-in-law, but Henry always managed to evade the webs she wove. At a certain boar-hunt Charles was indebted to Henry for his life. It was at the time when the king's brother D'Anjou had accepted the crown of Poland, and the second brother, D'Alençon, a weak-minded, ambitious man, was secretly hoping for a crown somewhere, that Henry paid his debt for the king's mercy to him on the night of St. Bartholomew. Charles was an intrepid hunter, but the boar had swerved as the king's spear was aimed at him, and, maddened with rage, the animal had rushed at him. Charles tried to draw his hunting-knife but the sheath was so tight it was impossible. "The boar! the boar!" shouted the king. "Help, D'Alençon, help!" D'Alençon was ghastly white as he placed his arquebuse to his shoulder and fired. The ball, instead of hitting the boar, felled the king's horse. "I think," D'Alençon murmured to himself, "that D'Anjou is King of France, and I King of Poland." The boar's tusk had indeed grazed the king's thigh when a hand in an iron glove dashed itself against the mouth of the beast, and a knife was plunged into its shoulder.