'Let him come and try to take it,' answered De Broglie; 'he will find me his match, old as I am.'
The king returned, his brow wet with perspiration, and his whole countenance wrung with distress.
'Gentlemen,' he spoke; 'I will do what I can. I will do anything you desire of me—except give orders for the attack upon Paris. Happily, no blood has flowed yet by my orders. I swear that none shall flow by my command. My reflections are made; I am ready to follow your advice and that of her majesty in every particular except that which is against my conscience. I have tried to stifle its voice, I have tried to see the force of your arguments, but ever the horror starts up before me of the possibility, nay, I fear the probability of carnage, and of bearing to my grave a brand worse than that of Cain; he was his brother's murderer, how much worse for a father to give up his children to slaughter! I cannot—indeed I cannot—consent.'
'Sire,' said De Breteuil, 'if your majesty has taken that resolution, we have but one course open to us.'
'The queen has been urging me,' said the king; 'and, if it were not against my conscience, I would yield to her.'
'Then your majesty must allow us to tender our resignation,' said De Breteuil.
'This is really very hard,' the king exclaimed. 'Have you only one scheme, and that a bloody one? Why not try conciliation?'
'Sire, we have judged what is the only course open to us to propose; if your majesty rejects that, it is our duty to withdraw.'
'I am very sorry,' muttered the king; 'but it cannot be helped, I fear. Oh that we had come to an end of these troubles!'