“We are two children at statecraft,” said Charles, bitterly; “we know nothing except how to love.  Alas! my treasure, yesterday I, too, thought all these things; I dreamed of accomplishing great deeds—­bah! my mother blew down my house of cards!  From a distance we see great questions outlined like the summits of mountains, and it is easy to say:  ’I’ll make an end of Calvinism; I’ll bring those Guises to task; I’ll separate from the Court of Rome; I’ll rely upon my people, upon the burghers—­’ ah! yes, from afar it all seems simple enough! but try to climb those mountains and the higher you go the more the difficulties appear.  Calvinism, in itself, is the last thing the leaders of that party care for; and the Guises, those rabid Catholics, would be sorry indeed to see the Calvinists put down.  Each side considers its own interests exclusively, and religious opinions are but a cloak for insatiable ambition.  The party of Charles IX. is the feeblest of all.  That of the king of Navarre, that of the king of Poland, that of the Duc d’Alencon, that of the Condes, that of the Guises, that of my mother, are all intriguing one against another, but they take no account of me, not even in my own council.  My mother, in the midst of so many contending elements, is, nevertheless, the strongest among them; she has just proved to me the inanity of my plans.  We are surrounded by rebellious subjects who defy the law.  The axe of Louis XI. of which you speak, is lacking to us.  Parliament would not condemn the Guises, nor the king of Navarre, nor the Condes, nor my brother.  No! the courage to assassinate is needed; the throne will be forced to strike down those insolent men who suppress both law and justice; but where can we find the faithful arm?  The council I held this morning has disgusted me with everything; treason everywhere; contending interests all about me.  I am tired with the burden of my crown.  I only want to die in peace.”

He dropped into a sort of gloomy somnolence.

“Disgusted with everything!” repeated Marie Touchet, sadly; but she did not disturb the black torpor of her lover.

Charles was the victim of a complete prostration of mind and body, produced by three things,—­the exhaustion of all his faculties, aggravated by the disheartenment of realizing the extent of an evil; the recognized impossibility of surmounting his weakness; and the aspect of difficulties so great that genius itself would dread them.  The king’s depression was in proportion to the courage and the loftiness of ideas to which he had risen during the last few months.  In addition to this, an attack of nervous melancholy, caused by his malady, had seized him as he left the protracted council which had taken place in his private cabinet.  Marie saw that he was in one of those crises when the least word, even of love, would be importunate and painful; so she remained kneeling quietly beside him, her head on his knee, the king’s hand buried in her hair, and he himself motionless, without a word, without a sigh, as still as Marie herself, —­Charles IX. in the lethargy of impotence, Marie in the stupor of despair which comes to a loving woman when she perceives the boundaries at which love ends.