Maurevel, "do not overwhelm me." "He was a brave officer," continued Charles, whose features assumed an aspect of almost ferocious cruelty, "who received you as if you had been his son; fed you, lodged you, and clothed you." Maurevel uttered a despairing sigh. "You called him your father, I believe," continued the King, pitilessly, "and a tender friendship existed between you and the young De Mouy, his son." Maurevel, still on his knees, bowed low, more and more crushed under the indignation of the King, who stood immovable, like a statue whose lips only are endowed with vitality. "By the way," continued the King, "M. de Guise was to give you ten thousand crowns if you killed the admiral—was he not?" The assassin in consternation struck his forehead against the floor. "As regards your worthy father, the Sieur de Mouy, you were one day acting as his escort in a reconnaissance toward Chevreux. He dropped his whip and dismounted to pick it up. You were alone with him; you took a pistol from your holster, and while he was bending over, you shot him in the back; then seeing he was dead—for you killed him on the spot—you escaped on the horse he had given you. This is your history, I believe?" And as Maurevel remained mute under this accusation, every circumstance of which was true, Charles IX. began to whistle again, with the same precision and melody, the same hunting-air. "Now, then, murderer!" said he after a little, "do you know I have a great mind to have you hanged?" "Oh, your Majesty!" cried Maurevel. "Young De Mouy entreated me to do so only yesterday, and I scarcely knew what answer to make him, for his demand was perfectly just." Maurevel clasped his hands. "All the more just, because I am, as you say, the father of my people; and because, as I answered you, now that I am reconciled to the Huguenots, they are as much my children as the Catholics." "Sire," said Maurevel, in despair, "my life is in your hands; do with it what you will." "You are quite right, and I would not give a groat for it."
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