"Because I am your mother."
"You are no more my mother, madame, than is the Duc d'Alençon my brother."
"You are mad, monsieur," said Catharine; "since when is she who gives birth to a child no longer his mother?"
"From the moment, madame, when the unnatural mother takes away that which she gives," replied Charles, wiping away a bloody sweat from his lips.
"What do you mean, Charles? I do not understand you," murmured Catharine, gazing at her son, her eyes dilated with astonishment.
"But you will, madame."
Charles searched under his pillow and drew out a small silver key.
"Take this, madame, and open my travelling-box. It contains certain papers which will speak for me."
Charles pointed to a magnificent carved box, closed with a silver lock, like the key, which occupied the most conspicuous place in the room.
Catharine, dominated by the look and manner of Charles, obeyed, advanced slowly to the box, and opened it. But no sooner had she looked into it than she suddenly sprang back as if she had seen some sleeping reptile inside it.