Raising himself by
deliberately standing upon one of the spokes of the stationary
wheel, he leaned over the Duc d'Epernon, and, whipping a long,
stout knife from his sleeve, stabbed Henry in the breast. The
King, who was in the act of reading a letter, cried out, and
threw up his arms in an instinctive warding movement, thereby
exposing his heart. The assassin stabbed again, and this time the
blade went deep.
With a little gasping cough, Henry sank together, and blood
gushed from his mouth.
The predictions were fulfilled; the tale borne by the courier
riding through Liege a week ago was made true, as were the
stories of his death already at that very hour circulating in
Antwerp, Malines, Brussels, and elsewhere.
The murderer aimed yet a third blow, but this at last was parried
by Epernon, whereupon the fellow stepped back from the coach, and
stood there, making no attempt to escape, or even to rid himself
of the incriminating knife. St. Michel, one of the King's
gentlemen-in-waiting, who had followed the coach, whipped out his
sword and would have slain him on the spot had he not been
restrained by Epernon. The footmen seized the fellow, and
delivered him over to the captain of the guard.
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