“He writes!” cried the crowd.

“He writes!” exclaimed Catherine.

“He writes!” cried the king, “and I will pardon him.”

Suddenly Salcede stopped and looked again at the lad, who repeated the signal.  He wrote on, then stopped to look once more; the signal was again repeated.

“Have you finished?” asked Tanchon.

“Yes.”—­“Then sign.”

Salcede signed, with his eyes still fixed on the young man.  “For the king alone,” said he, and he gave the paper to the usher, though with hesitation.

“If you have disclosed all,” said Tanchon, “you are safe.”

A strange smile strayed over the lips of Salcede.  Ernanton, who was fatigued, wished now to put down the page, who made no opposition.  With him disappeared all that had sustained the unfortunate man; he looked round wildly and cried:  “Well, come!”

No one answered.

“Quick! quick! the king holds the paper; he is reading!”

Still there was no response.

The king unfolded the paper.

“Thousand devils!” cried Salcede, “if they have deceived me!  Yet it was she—­it was really she!”

No sooner had the king read the first lines, than he called out indignantly, “Oh! the wretch!”

“What is it, my son?”

“He retracts all—­he pretends that he confessed nothing; and he declares that the Guises are innocent of any plot!”

“But,” said Catherine, “if it be true?”

“He lies!” cried the king.

“How do you know, my son?  Perhaps the Guises have been calumniated:  the judges, in their zeal, may have put false interpretation on the depositions.”

“Oh! no, madame; I heard them myself!” cried Henri.

“You, my son?”

“Yes, I?”

“How so?”

“When the criminal was questioned, I was behind a curtain and heard all he said.”

“Well, then, if he will have it, order the horses to pull.”

Henri, in anger, gave the sign.  It was repeated, the cords were refastened, four men jumped on the horses, which, urged by violent blows, started off in opposite directions.  A horrible cracking, and a terrible cry was heard.  The blood was seen to spout from the limbs of the unhappy man, whose face was no longer that of a man but of a demon.

“Ah, heaven!” he cried; “I will speak, I will tell all.  Ah! cursed duch—­”

The voice had been heard above everything, but suddenly it ceased.

“Stop, stop,” cried Catherine, “let him speak.”

But it was too late; the head of Salcede fell helplessly on one side, he glanced once more to where he had seen the page, and then expired.  Tanchon gave some rapid orders to his archers, who plunged into the crowd in the direction indicated by Salcede’s glance.

“I am discovered!” said the page to Ernanton.  “For pity’s sake, aid me! they come, they come!”

“What do you want?”