D'Alençon's hand was trembling as he took the book from the queen-mother, and with some hesitation and fear he entered Henry's apartment and placed the volume, open at the title-page. But it was not Henry, but Charles, seeking his brother-in-law, who found the book and carried it off to his own room. D'Alençon found the king reading. "By heavens, this is an admirable book!" cried Charles. "Only it seems as if they had stuck the leaves together on purpose to conceal the wonders it contains." D'Alençon's first thought was to snatch the book from his brother, but he hesitated. The king again moistened his finger and turned over a page. "Let me finish this chapter," he said, "and then tell me what you please. I have already read fifty pages." "He must have tasted the poison five-and-twenty times," thought D'Alençon. "He is a dead man!" The poison did its deadly work. Charles was taken ill while out hunting, and returned to find his dog dead, and in its mouth pieces of paper from the precious book on falconry. The king turned pale. The book was poisoned! Many things flashed across his memory, and he knew his life was doomed. Charles summoned Renè, a Florentine, the court perfumer to Catherine de Medici, to his presence, and bade him examine the dog. "Sire," said Renè, after a close investigation, "the dog has been poisoned by arsenic." "He has eaten a leaf of this book," said Charles; "and if you do not tell me whose book it is I will have your flesh torn from your bones by red-hot pincers." "Sire," stammered the Florentine, "this book belongs to me!" "And how did it leave your hands?" "Her majesty the queen-mother took it from my house." "Why did she do that?" "I believe she intended sending it to the King of Navarre, who had asked for a book on hawking." "Ah," said Charles, "I understand it all! The book was in Harry's room. It is destiny; I must yield to it. Tell me," he went on, turning to Renè, "this poison does not always kill at once?" "No, sire; but it kills surely. It is a matter of time." "Is there no remedy?" "None, sire, unless it be instantly administered." Charles compelled the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de Medici.--Renè," and then dismissed him. Henry, at his own prayer and for his personal safety, was confined in the prison of Vincennes by the king's order. Charles grew worse, and the physicians discussed his malady without daring to guess at the truth. Then Catherine came one day and explained to the king the cause of his disease. "Listen, my son; you believe in magic?" "Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity. "Well," continued Catherine, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it, perhaps, but I know it for a certainty."