to take him into the safe-keeping of the League, miscarried, for the King reentered the city before the scheme was ripe.  On the other hand, Nicholas Poulain, bought for twenty thousand crowns by the ‘politiques,’ gave the King and his advisers-full information of all these intrigues, and, standing in Henry’s cabinet, offered, at peril of his life, if he might be confronted with the conspirators—­the leaders of the League within the city—­to prove the truth of the charges which he had made.

For the whole city was now thoroughly organized.  The number of its districts had been reduced from sixteen to five, the better to bring it under the control of the League; and, while it could not be denied that Mucio, had, been doing his master’s work very thoroughly, yet it was still in the power of the King—­through the treachery of Poulain—­to strike a blow for life and freedom, before he was quite, taken in the trap.  But he stood helpless, paralyzed, gazing in dreamy stupor—­like one fascinated at the destruction awaiting him.

At last, one memorable May morning, a traveller alighted outside the gate of Saint Martin, and proceeded on foot through the streets of Paris.  He was wrapped in a large cloak, which he held carefully over his face.  When he had got as far as the street of Saint Denis, a young gentleman among the passers by, a good Leaguer, accosted the stranger, and with coarse pleasantry, plucked the cloak from his face, and the hat from his head.  Looking at the handsome, swarthy features, marked with a deep scar, and the dark, dangerous eyes which were then revealed, the practical jester at once recognized in the simple traveller the terrible Balafre, and kissed the hem of his garments with submissive rapture.  Shouts of “Vive Guise” rent the air from all the bystanders, as the Duke, no longer affecting concealment, proceeded with a slow and stately step toward the residence of Catharine de’ Medici.’  That queen of compromises and of magic had been holding many a conference with the leaders of both parties; had been increasing her son’s stupefaction by her enigmatical counsels; had been anxiously consulting her talisman of goat’s and human blood, mixed with metals melted under the influence of the star of her nativity, and had been daily visiting the wizard Ruggieri, in whose magic circle—­peopled with a thousand fantastic heads—­she had held high converse with the world of spirits, and derived much sound advice as to the true course of action to be pursued between her son and Philip, and between the politicians and the League.  But, in spite of these various sources of instruction, Catharine—­was somewhat perplexed, now that decisive action seemed necessary—­a dethronement and a new massacre impending, and judicious compromise difficult.  So after a hurried conversation with Mucio, who insisted on an interview with the King, she set forth for the Louvre, the Duke lounging calmly by the aide of her, sedan chair, on foot, receiving the homage of the populace,