Some days before the terrible end of the reign of Francois II., the king insisted on sailing down the Loire, wishing not to be in the town of Orleans on the day when the Prince de Conde was executed.  Having yielded the head of the prince to the Cardinal de Lorraine, he was equally in dread of a rebellion among the townspeople and of the prayers and supplications of the Princesse de Conde.  At the moment of embarkation, one of the cold winds which sweep along the Loire at the beginning of winter gave him so sharp an ear-ache that he was obliged to return to his apartments; there he took to his bed, not leaving it again until he died.  In contradiction of the doctors, who, with the exception of Chapelain, were his enemies, Ambroise Pare insisted that an abscess was formed in the king’s head, and that unless an issue were given to it, the danger of death would increase daily.  Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, and the curfew law, which was sternly enforced in Orleans, at this time practically in a state of siege, Pare’s lamp shone from his window, and he was deep in study, when Lecamus called to him from below.  Recognizing the voice of his old friend, Pare ordered that he should be admitted.

“You take no rest, Ambroise; while saving the lives of others you are wasting your own,” said the furrier as he entered, looking at the surgeon, who sat, with opened books and scattered instruments, before the head of a dead man, lately buried and now disinterred, in which he had cut an opening.

“It is a matter of saving the king’s life.”

“Are you sure of doing it, Ambroise?” cried the old man, trembling.

“As sure as I am of my own existence.  The king, my old friend, has a morbid ulcer pressing on his brain, which will presently suffice it if no vent is given to it, and the danger is imminent.  But by boring the skull I expect to release the pus and clear the head.  I have already performed this operation three times.  It was invented by a Piedmontese; but I have had the honor to perfect it.  The first operation I performed was at the siege of Metz, on Monsieur de Pienne, whom I cured, who was afterwards all the more intelligent in consequence.  His was an abscess caused by the blow of an arquebuse.  The second was on the head of a pauper, on whom I wanted to prove the value of the audacious operation Monsieur de Pienne had allowed me to perform.  The third I did in Paris on a gentleman who is now entirely recovered.  Trepanning—­that is the name given to the operation—­is very little known.  Patients refuse it, partly because of the imperfection of the instruments; but I have at last improved them.  I am practising now on this skull, that I may be sure of not failing to-morrow, when I operate on the head of the king.”

“You ought indeed to be very sure you are right, for your own head would be in danger in case—­”

“I’d wager my life I can cure him,” replied Ambroise, with the conviction of a man of genius.  “Ah! my old friend, where’s the danger of boring into a skull with proper precautions?  That is what soldiers do in battle every day of their lives, without taking any precautions.”