"You are passing now, sire," said he, "the very spot where
the Duc de Guise received the first stab of the poniard."

The king was ignorant of all historical matters; he had
heard of the fact, but he knew nothing of the localities or
the details.

"Ah!" said he with a shudder.

And he stopped. The rest, both behind and before him,
stopped likewise.

"The duc, sire," continued Gaston, "was nearly where I
stand: he was walking in the same direction as your majesty;
M. de Lorgnes was exactly where your lieutenant of
musketeers is; M. de Saint-Maline and his majesty's
ordinaries were behind him and around him. It was here that
he was struck."

The king turned towards his officer, and saw something like
a cloud pass over his martial and daring countenance.

"Yes, from behind!" murmured the lieutenant, with a gesture
of supreme disdain. And he endeavored to resume the march,
as if ill at ease at being between walls formerly defiled by
treachery.

But the king, who appeared to wish to be informed, was
disposed to give another look at this dismal spot.