"None, sire, unless it be instantly administered."
Charles compelled the wretched man to write in the fatal volume, "This book was given by me to the queen-mother, Catherine de Medici.--Renè," and then dismissed him.
Henry, at his own prayer and for his personal safety, was confined in the prison of Vincennes by the king's order. Charles grew worse, and the physicians discussed his malady without daring to guess at the truth.
Then Catherine came one day and explained to the king the cause of his disease.
"Listen, my son; you believe in magic?"
"Oh, fully," said Charles, repressing his smile of incredulity.
"Well," continued Catherine, "all your sufferings proceed from magic. An enemy afraid to attack you openly has done so in secret; a terrible conspiracy has been directed against your majesty. You doubt it, perhaps, but I know it for a certainty."
"I never doubt what you tell me," replied the king sarcastically. "I am curious to know how they have sought to kill me."
"By magic. Look here." The queen drew from under her mantle a figure of yellow wax about ten inches high, wearing a robe covered with golden stars, and over this a royal mantle.
"See, it has on its head a crown," said Catherine, "and there is a needle in its heart. Now do you recognise yourself?"