Charles, however, though on his death-bed, declared Henry should be regent.

“Madame,” he said, addressing his mother, “if I had a son he would be king, and you would be regent.  In your stead, did you decline, the King of Poland would be regent; and in his stead, D’Alencon.  But I have no son, and therefore the throne belongs to D’Anjou, who is absent.  To make D’Alencon regent is to invite civil war.  I have therefore chosen the fittest person for regent Salute him, madame; salute him, D’Alencon.  It is the King of Navarre!”

“Never,” cried Catherine, “shall my race yield to a foreign one!  Never shall a Bourbon reign while a Valois lives!”

She left the room, followed by D’Alencon.

“Henry,” said Charles, “after my death you will be great and powerful.  D’Anjou will not leave Poland—­they will not let him.  D’Alencon is a traitor.  You alone are capable of governing.  It is not the regency only, but the throne I give you.”

A stream of blood choked his speech.

“The fatal moment is come,” said Henry.  “Am I to reign, or to live?”

“Live, sire!” a voice answered, and Rene appeared.  “The queen has sent me to ruin you, but I have faith in your star.  It is foretold that you shall be king.  Do you know that the King of Poland will be here very soon?  He has been summoned by the queen.  A messenger has come from Warsaw.  You shall be king, but not yet.”

“What shall I do, then?”

“Fly instantly to where your friends wait for you.”

Henry stooped and kissed his brother’s forehead, then disappeared down a secret passage, passed through the postern, and, springing on his horse, galloped off.

“He flies!  The King of Navarre flies!” cried the sentinels.

“Fire on him!  Fire!” said the queen.

The sentinels levelled their pieces, but the king was out of reach.

“He flies!” muttered D’Alencon.  “I am king, then!”

At the same moment the drawbridge was hastily lowered, and Henry d’Anjou galloped into the court, followed by four knights, crying, “France!  France!”

“My son!” cried Catherine joyfully.

“Am I too late?” said D’Anjou.

“No.  You are just in time.  Listen!”

The captain of the king’s guards appeared at the balcony of the king’s apartment.  He broke the wand he held in two places, and holding a piece in either hand, called out three times, “King Charles the Ninth is dead!”

King Charles the Ninth is dead!  King Charles the Ninth is dead!”

“Charles the Ninth is dead!” said Catherine, crossing herself.  “God save Henry the Third!”

All repeated the cry.

“I have conquered,” said Catherine, “and the odious Bourbon shall not reign!”

* * * * *

The Black Tulip