"The king is dead!" said Le Balafré, in a deep, hollow voice.
The king-at-arms cried aloud on the threshold of the apartment, according to ancient ceremonial,—
"The king is dead! The king is dead! The king is dead! Pray God for the salvation of his soul!"
"Long live the king!" replied the first gentleman of the chamber.
At the same moment Madame de Fiesque brought the Duc d'Orléans to the queen-mother's side, who took him by the hand, and led him out to show to the courtiers, who were lustily shouting,—
"Long live our good king, Charles IX.!"
"Our fortunes are at an end now!" said the cardinal, gloomily, to his brother, as they were left standing almost alone.
"Ours, perhaps, but not that of our family," replied the ambitious Duc de Guise. "We must think now about preparing the way for my son."
"How can we renew our alliance with the queen-mother?"
"Oh, let us leave her to quarrel with her Bourbons and her Huguenots," said Le Balafré.