“But what of those waxen images?” asked the king.
“Sire,” said Cosmo, “these things are so absolutely harmless that we lend ourselves to the practice to satisfy blind passions, just as physicians give bread pills to imaginary invalids. A disappointed woman fancies that by stabbing the heart of a wax-figure she has brought misfortunes upon the head of the man who has been unfaithful to her. What harm in that? Besides, it is our revenue.”
“The Pope sells indulgences,” said Lorenzo Ruggiero, smiling.
“Has my mother practised these spells with waxen images?”
“What good would such harmless means be to one who has the actual power to do all things?”
“Has Queen Catherine the power to save you at this moment?” inquired the king, in a threatening manner.
“Sire, we are not in any danger,” replied Lorenzo, tranquilly. “I knew before I came into this house that I should leave it safely, just as I know that the king will be evilly disposed to my brother Cosmo a few weeks hence. My brother may run some danger then, but he will escape it. If the king reigns by the sword, he also reigns by justice,” added the old man, alluding to the famous motto on a medal struck for Charles IX.
“You know all, and you know that I shall die soon, which is very well,” said the king, hiding his anger under nervous impatience; “but how will my brother die,—he whom you say is to be Henri III.?”
“By a violent death.”
“And the Duc d’Alencon?”