"Yet it does not kill immediately," said Charles.
"No, but it kills surely, no matter how long the time, though even this may sometimes be calculated."
Charles leaned against the marble table.
"Now," said he, putting his hand on Rene"s shoulder, "you know this book?"
"I, sire?" said Rene, turning pale.
"Yes, you; on seeing it you betrayed yourself."
"Sire, I swear to you"--
"Rene," said Charles, "listen to me. You poisoned the Queen of Navarre with gloves; you poisoned the Prince of Porcion with the smoke from a lamp; you tried to poison Monsieur de Conde with a scented apple. Rene, I will have your skin removed with red-hot pincers, bit by bit, if you do not tell me to whom this book belongs."
The Florentine saw that he could not dally with the anger of Charles IX., and resolved to be bold.
"If I tell the truth, sire, who will guarantee that I shall not be more cruelly punished than if I keep silent?"
"I will."
"Will you give me your royal word?"
"On my honor as a gentleman your life shall be spared," said the King.
"The book belongs to me, then," said Rene.
"To you!" cried Charles, starting back and looking at the poisoner with haggard eyes.
"Yes, to me."
"How did it leave your possession?"
"Her majesty the queen mother took it from my house."
"The queen mother!" exclaimed Charles.
"Yes."
"With what object?"
"With the intention, I think, of having it sent to the King of Navarre, who had asked the Duc d"Alencon for a book of the kind in order to study the art of hawking."
"Ah!" cried Charles, "that is it. I see it all. The book indeed was in Henriot"s room. There is a destiny about this and I submit to it."
At that moment Charles was seized with a violent fit of coughing, followed by fresh pain in the bowels. He gave two or three stifled cries, and fell back in his chair.
"What is the matter, sire?" asked Rene in a frightened voice.
"Nothing," said Charles, "except that I am thirsty. Give me something to drink."
Rene filled a gla.s.s with water and with trembling hand gave it to Charles, who swallowed it at a draught.
"Now," said he, taking a pen and dipping it into the ink, "write in this book."
"What must I write?"
"What I am going to dictate to you:
""_This book on hawking was given by me to the queen mother, Catharine de Medicis._""
Rene took the pen and wrote.
"Now sign your name."
The Florentine obeyed.
"You promised to save my life."
"I will keep my promise."
"But," said Rene, "the queen mother?"
"Oh!" said Charles, "I have nothing to do with her; if you are attacked defend yourself."
"Sire, may I leave France, where I feel that my life is in danger?"
"I will reply to that in a fortnight."
"But, in the meantime"--
Charles frowned and placed his finger on his livid lips.
"You need not be afraid of me, sire."
And happy to have escaped so easily the Florentine bowed and withdrew.
Behind him the nurse appeared at the door of her room.
"What is the matter, my Charlot?" said she.
"Nurse, I have been walking in the dew, and have taken cold."
"You are very pale, Charlot."
"It is because I am so weak. Give me your arm, nurse, as far as my bed."
The nurse hastily came forward.