"One moment!" interposed Catherine de Médicis, in a cold, hard voice. "Before allowing that man to enter, pray wait at least until I can take my leave. If it pleases you to intrust the life of the son to him who cut short the life of the father, I, at all events, do not propose to meet the murderer of my husband again, or hear his voice. Therefore I enter my protest against his presence in this place, and withdraw at his approach."
She did, in fact, leave the room without bestowing a glance upon her dying son or giving him a mother's farewell blessing.
Was it because the detested name of Gabriel de Montgommery recalled to her mind the first outrage the late king had put upon her? It may be so; nevertheless, it is certain that she had no such horror as she pretended of the sight of Gabriel and the sound of his voice; for when she withdrew to her own apartment, which adjoined that of the king, she was careful to leave the door half open, and had no sooner closed another door which opened upon a corridor quite deserted at that late hour than she applied both eye and ear to the aperture, in order to see and hear what took place after her abrupt departure.
Gabriel appeared, ushered in by Dayelle, and knelt to kiss the hand the queen held out to him, before making a profound salutation to the cardinal.
"Well?" asked Mary Stuart, anxiously.
"Madame, I have prevailed upon Master Paré," said Gabriel. "He is below."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, my faithful friend!" cried Mary.
"Pray, Madame, is the king failing?" said Gabriel, in a low voice, casting an uneasy glance at the bed, where François II. lay without color or motion.
"Alas! he never seems to gain," replied the queen; "and I was very impatient to see you. Did Master Ambroise object seriously to coming?"
"No, Madame," replied Gabriel. "He had already been sent for, but in such a way, he told me, as to invite a refusal. He was expected to bind himself in advance, upon his life and his honor, to save the king, when he had not even seen him. He was given to understand that, being himself a Protestant, he was open to the suspicion of desiring the death of a persecutor of Protestants. In short, he was treated with such insulting distrust, and such severe conditions were imposed upon him, that unless he had been utterly devoid of self-respect, to say nothing of caution, he must unavoidably have been led to hold himself aloof. He did so, to his great regret, and was not urged any further by those who had been sent to him."