“The king is dead!” said the Duc de Guise, compelled to perform his duties as Grand-master.

“Long live King Charles IX.!” cried all the noblemen who had come with the king of Navarre, the Prince de Conde, and the Connetable.

The ceremonies which follow the death of a king of France were performed in almost total solitude.  When the king-at-arms proclaimed aloud three times in the hall, “The king is dead!” there were very few persons present to reply, “Vive le roi!”

The queen-mother, to whom the Comtesse de Fiesque had brought the Duc d’Orleans, now Charles IX., left the chamber, leading her son by the hand, and all the remaining courtiers followed her.  No one was left in the house where Francois II. had drawn his last breath, but the duke and the cardinal, the Duchesse de Guise, Mary Stuart, and Dayelle, together with the sentries at the door, the pages of the Grand-master, those of the cardinal, and their private secretaries.

“Vive la France!” cried several Reformers in the street, sounding the first cry of the opposition.

Robertet, who owed all he was to the duke and cardinal, terrified by their scheme and its present failure, went over secretly to the queen-mother, whom the ambassadors of Spain, England, the Empire, and Poland, hastened to meet on the staircase, brought thither by Cardinal de Tournon, who had gone to notify them as soon as he had made Queen Catherine a sign from the courtyard at the moment when she protested against the operation of Ambroise Pare.

“Well!” said the cardinal to the duke, “so the sons of Louis d’Outre-mer, the heirs of Charles de Lorraine flinched and lacked courage.”

“We should have been exiled to Lorraine,” replied the duke.  “I declare to you, Charles, that if the crown lay there before me I would not stretch out my hand to pick it up.  That’s for my son to do.”

“Will he have, as you have had, the army and Church on his side?”

“He will have something better.”

“What?”

“The people!”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mary Stuart, clasping the stiffened hand of her first husband, now dead, “there is none but me to weep for this poor boy who loved me so!”

“How can we patch up matters with the queen-mother?” said the cardinal.

“Wait till she quarrels with the Huguenots,” replied the duchess.

The conflicting interests of the house of Bourbon, of Catherine, of the Guises, and of the Reformed party produced such confusion in the town of Orleans that, three days after the king’s death, his body, completely forgotten in the Bailliage and put into a coffin by the menials of the house, was taken to Saint-Denis in a covered waggon, accompanied only by the Bishop of Senlis and two gentlemen.  When the pitiable procession reached the little town of Etampes, a servant of the Chancelier l’Hopital fastened to the waggon this severe inscription, which history has preserved:  “Tanneguy de Chastel, where art thou? and yet thou wert a Frenchman!”—­a stern reproach, which fell with equal force on Catherine de’ Medici, Mary Stuart, and the Guises.  What Frenchman does not know that Tanneguy de Chastel spent thirty thousand crowns of the coinage of that day (one million of our francs) at the funeral of Charles VII., the benefactor of his house?