Jacques de Savoie thereupon leaned toward the Duchesse de Guise, with whom he was said to be on the very best terms, and whispered in her ear. The duchess had much influence over the mind of the queen.
She at once rose, as if she could not bear any more of the sad spectacle, and said loud enough for Mary to hear: "Ah, this is too horrible for ladies! Do you see how ill the queen is? Let us go."
But the Cardinal de Lorraine gazed sternly at his sister-in-law.
"A little more firmness, Madame," said he, harshly. "Remember that you are of the blood of D'Este and the wife of the Duc de Guise."
"Ah, and that is just why I am so troubled!" retorted the duchess. "No mother ever had better cause for suffering; for all this bloodshed and all the hatred aroused by this day's work will fall upon our innocent children."
"How weak women are!" muttered the cardinal, who was an arrant coward.
"However," said the Duc de Nemours, "one does not need to be a woman to be touched by this mournful picture. Tell me, Prince," said he to Monsieur de Condé, "are not you moved by it?"
"Oh, ho!" sneered the cardinal; "the prince is a soldier, accustomed to see death in all forms."
"Yes, on the battle-field," replied the prince, courageously; "but upon the scaffold, and in cold blood,—that's quite another matter!"
"Has a prince of the blood so much pity for rebels, pray?" It was again the sneering voice of Charles de Lorraine which asked the question.