"Yet it seems to me, Madame—" stammered the cardinal. "I think, your Majesty—As for me, I cannot see that the uproar increases any."
But his words were drowned by a fearful explosion.
"There is your answer," retorted the king, smiling bitterly, "even if your pale and terrified face were not enough to contradict you."
"I can detect the odor of powder," cried Mary. "And oh, just hear those piercing shrieks!"
"Better and better!" exclaimed François. "Come, come! The Reformers have carried the walls of the town by this time, doubtless, and propose to besiege us in the château in regular form."
"But, Sire," the cardinal stammered, shaking like a leaf, "in this conjuncture would it not be better for your Majesty to withdraw to the donjon? We may be sure that they will not carry that at all events."
"Who,—I?" cried the king; "hide myself from my own subjects! from heretics! Let them come even as far as this, my good uncle,—I shall be very glad to know to what point they will carry their insolence. You will hear them beg us to sing a psalm or two with them in French, and to turn our chapel of St. Florentin into a meeting-house."
"Sire, for Heaven's sake, think a little of what is prudent," said Mary.
"No," replied the king, "I propose to see this matter through to the bitter end. I will await these faithful subjects on this spot; and by my royal name! let one of them but fail to show me the respect that is my due, and he shall learn whether this dagger hangs at my side for show only!"
The minutes rolled on, and the arquebuse-firing grew more and more brisk. The poor cardinal could no longer utter a word, and the king was wringing his hands in helpless wrath.