I saw the features of the old war-wolf work convulsively as he bowed before the King and muttered hoarsely, “It shall be done.”
There was no word spoken now. There was nothing to say. The lights burned brightly on the pallid features of the boy, who had flung himself back amid his pillows, and wearily closed his eyes.
We stood still, looking at each other in silence. I saw Catherine and René exchange a glance, and then from behind us came a single, half-suppressed sob. It was from the heart of the fair young Queen, as, with a quick, sudden movement, she turned and passed into an inner apartment.
And the Medicis spoke now in her icy, measured voice:
“Messieurs, the King sleeps.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE KING’S SIGNET
Bowing low, we stepped from the King’s bedside and moved toward the door, Catherine stopping Sancerre to give a last injunction: “You will leave by the private way, through my apartments—tell Bentivoglio.”
She was answered in an undertone, so that I could not catch the speech, and the next moment we re-entered the ante-chamber, closely followed by René.
Those whom we had left were still there, in curious expectation; but René repeated to them the words of the Medicis, “The King sleeps,” and there followed the murmurs of low converse, and a subdued bustle of departure, only those remaining whose duties required them to stay—a page or so, the officer of the night, and the archers at the door.
Bentivoglio and Richelieu moved together toward us, and Sancerre, whispering Catherine’s command in the chamberlain’s ear, turned to Richelieu and said: