Just then Pinard, one of the secretaries of State, glided like an eel through the door and along the wall until he reached the queen-mother, in whose ear he said a few words, to which she replied by an affirmative sign.  The king did not ask his mother the meaning of this conference, but he returned to his seat and kept silence, darting terrible looks of anger and suspicion all about him.

This little circumstance seemed of enormous consequence in the eyes of the courtiers; and, in truth, so marked an exercise of power by the queen-mother, without reference to the king, was like a drop of water overflowing the cup.  Queen Elizabeth and the Comtesse de Fiesque now retired, but the king paid no attention to their movements, though the queen-mother rose and attended her daughter-in-law to the door; after which the courtiers, understanding that their presence was unwelcome, took their leave.  By ten o’clock no one remained in the hall but a few intimates,—­the two Gondis, Tavannes, Solern, Birago, the king, and the queen-mother.

The king sat plunged in the blackest melancholy.  The silence was oppressive.  Catherine seemed embarrassed.  She wished to leave the room, and waited for the king to escort her to the door; but he still continued obstinately lost in thought.  At last she rose to bid him good-night, and Charles IX. was forced to do likewise.  As she took his arm and made a few steps toward the door, she bent to his ear and whispered:—­

“Monsieur, I have important things to say to you.”

Passing a mirror on her way, she glanced into it and made a sign with her eyes to the two Gondis, which escaped the king’s notice, for he was at the moment exchanging looks of intelligence with the Comte de Solern and Villeroy.  Tavannes was thoughtful.

“Sire,” said the latter, coming out of his reverie, “I think you are royally ennuyed; don’t you ever amuse yourself now? Vive Dieu! have you forgotten the times when we used to vagabondize about the streets at night?”

“Ah! those were the good old times!” said the king, with a sigh.

“Why not bring them back?” said Birago, glancing significantly at the Gondis as he took his leave.

“Yes, I always think of those days with pleasure,” said Albert de Gondi, Duc de Retz.

“I’d like to see you on the roofs once more, monsieur le duc,” remarked Tavannes.  “Damned Italian cat!  I wish he might break his neck!” he added in a whisper to the king.

“I don’t know which of us two could climb the quickest in these days,” replied de Gondi; “but one thing I do know, that neither of us fears to die.”

“Well, sire, will you start upon a frolic in the streets to-night, as you did in the days of your youth?” said the other Gondi, master of the Wardrobe.

The days of his youth! so at twenty-four years of age the wretched king seemed no longer young to any one, not even to his flatterers!