He thereupon uttered a loud and piercing cry, and struck his forehead with a force which made every one tremble.
Then, knitting his brows, as if one of the mysterious incidents of his life had just recurred to him, he murmured:
"Bussy! Diana!"
This latter name had been overheard by none but Catherine, so weakened had the dying man's voice become before pronouncing it.
With the last syllable of that name Francois d'Anjou breathed his last sigh.
At this very moment, by a singular coincidence, the sun, which had gilded with its rays the royal arms of France, and the golden fleurs-de-lis, was again obscured: so that the fleurs-de-lis which had been so brilliantly illumined but a moment before, became as dark and gloomy as the azure ground which they had but recently studded with constellations almost as resplendent as those whereon the eye of the dreamer rests in his upward gaze toward heaven.
Catherine let her son's hand fall.
Henri III. shuddered, and leaned tremblingly on Chicot's shoulder, who shuddered too, but from a feeling of awe which every Christian feels in the presence of the dead.
Miron placed a golden spatula on Francois' lips; after a few seconds, he looked at it carefully and said:
"Monseigneur is dead."