in loving parley on the boughs of a flowering shrub.
Chapter 20.
The Black Hens.
It was time the two couples disappeared! Catharine was putting the key in the lock of the second door just as Coconnas and Madame de Nevers stepped out of the house by the lower entrance, and Catharine as she entered could hear the steps of the fugitives on the stairs.
She cast a searching glance around, and then fixing her suspicious eyes on Réné, who stood motionless, bowing before her, said:
“Who was that?”
“Some lovers, who are satisfied with the assurance I gave them that they are really in love.”
“Never mind them,” said Catharine, shrugging her shoulders; “is there no one else here?”
“No one but your majesty and myself.”
“Have you done what I ordered you?”
“About the two black hens?”
“Yes!”
“They are ready, madame.”
“Ah,” muttered Catharine, “if you were a Jew!”
“Why a Jew, madame?”
“Because you could then read the precious treatises which the Hebrews have written about sacrifices. I have had one of them translated, and I found that the Hebrews did not look for omens in the heart or liver as the Romans did, but in the configuration of the brain, and in the shape of the letters traced there by the all-powerful hand of destiny.”
“Yes, madame; so I have heard from an old rabbi.”
“There are,” said Catharine, “characters thus marked that reveal all the future. Only the Chaldean seers recommend”—
“Recommend — what?” asked Réné, seeing the queen hesitate.
“That the experiment shall be tried on the human brain, as more developed and more nearly sympathizing with the wishes of the consulter.”
“Alas!” said Réné, “your majesty knows it is impossible.”
“Difficult, at least,” said Catharine; “if we had known this at Saint Bartholomew’s, what a rich harvest we might have had — The first convict — but I will think of it. Meantime, let us do what we can. Is the chamber of sacrifice prepared?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Let us go there.”
Réné lighted a taper made of strange substances, the odor of which, both insidious and penetrating as well as nauseating and stupefying, betokened the introduction of many elements; holding this taper up, he preceded Catharine into the cell.
Catharine selected from amongst the sacrificial instruments a knife of blue steel, while Réné took up one of the two fowls that were huddling in one corner, with anxious, golden eyes.
“How shall we proceed?”
“We will examine the liver of the one and the brain of the other. If these two experiments lead to the same result we must be convinced, especially if these results coincide with those we got before.”
“Which shall we begin with?”
“With the liver.”
“Very well,” said Réné, and he fastened the bird down to two rings attached to the little altar, so that the creature, turned on its back, could only struggle, without stirring from the spot.
Catharine opened its breast with a single stroke of her knife; the fowl uttered three cries, and, after some convulsions, expired.
“Always three cries!” said Catharine; “three signs of death.”
She then opened the body.
“And the liver inclining to the left, always to the left — a triple death, followed by a downfall. ’T is terrible, Réné.”
“We must see, madame, whether the presages from the second will correspond with those of the first.”
Réné unfastened the body of the fowl from the altar and tossed it into a corner; then he went to the other, which, foreseeing what its fate would be by its companion’s, tried to escape by running round the cell, and finding itself pent up in a corner flew over Réné‘s head, and in its flight extinguished the magic taper Catharine held.
“You see, Réné, thus shall our race be extinguished,” said the queen; “death shall breathe upon it, and destroy it from the face of the earth! Yet three sons! three sons!” she murmured, sorrowfully.
Réné took from her the extinguished taper, and went into the adjoining room to relight it.
On his return he saw the hen hiding its head in the tunnel.
“This time,” said Catharine, “I will prevent the cries, for I will cut off the head at once.”
And accordingly, as soon as the hen was bound, Catharine, as she had said, severed the head at a single blow; but in the last agony the beak opened three times, and then closed forever.
“Do you see,” said Catharine, terrified, “instead of three cries, three sighs? Always three! — they will all three die. All these spirits before they depart count and call three. Let us now see the prognostications in the head.”
She severed the bloodless comb from the head, carefully opened the skull, and laying bare the lobes of the brain endeavored to trace a letter formed in the bloody sinuosities made by the division of the central pulp.
“Always so!” cried she, clasping her hands; “and this time clearer than ever; see here!”
Réné approached.
“What is the letter?” asked Catharine.
“An H,” replied Réné.
“How many times repeated?”
Réné counted.
“Four,” said he.
“Ay, ay! I see it! that is to say, HENRY IV. Oh,” she cried, flinging the knife from her, “I am accursed in my posterity!”
She was terrible, that woman, pale as a corpse, lighted by the dismal taper, and clasping her bloody hands.
“He will reign!” she exclaimed with a sigh of despair; “he will reign!”
“He will reign!” repeated Réné, plunged in meditation.
Nevertheless, the gloomy expression of Catharine’s
