"Come then, come to the chapel," cried the King. And taking the Duke of Guise by the hand he led the way, followed by only the two attendants who were in the anteroom. In ten minutes more the King and the Duke might be seen kneeling before the same altar, calling down the wrath of God upon their heads if they ever did one act of enmity towards each other, drinking of the same consecrated cup, and dividing the host between them.[[8]]
[CHAP. X.]
It was a bright clear frost, all the ancient houses and streets of that most curious and interesting old town, called Blois, were seen clear and defined, without the slightest thin particle of smoke or haze, and from the high windows of the chamber of Catherine de Medici the servant, who sat and gazed out, might see the slightest object that passed along the road below.
As she thus sat and gazed, her eyes fell upon a glittering troop of cavaliers who issued forth from the castle gates, and took their way through the town, and she could see the princely form of the Duke of Guise, and the strong frame of Brissac, and the graceful person of Charles of Montsoreau, riding nearly abreast at the head of the troop.
"The Duke has gone forth, may it please your Majesty," said the woman, turning to the bed on which lay Catherine de Medici, sick in body and uneasy in mind. "The Duke has gone forth, and a large train with him."
"Then the King will soon be here," replied the Queen-mother. "Go into the further chamber, good Bridget, and wait there till he leaves me. If Madame de Noirmontier arrives from Paris before he is gone, bid her wait there too. I will see her after, and be glad to see her."
The attendant had scarcely retired, when Henry III. himself entered with a slow step, a dull frowning brow, and lips turned down, giving his countenance a diabolical expression of sneering malice, which contrasted strongly with the white and red paint which he had used, and the gay foppery of his apparel.
"You sent for us, good mother," he said. "How goes it with you? Has the fever left you, or do you still suffer?"
"My sufferings are of no moment," replied Catherine de Medici. "They will soon pass, Henry, and I shall be well again. But the illnesses of states pass not so soon, my son; and upon your acts, at the present moment, depends the welfare of France for centuries."
"I know it, madam," replied Henry sullenly. "But may I ask upon what particular occasion your Majesty has thus resumed the maternal rod?"