Henry drove out, in his carriage to see the preparations making for the triumphal entrance of the Queen into Paris on the following Sunday.

What need to repeat the tragic, familiar tale?
The coach was stopped by apparent accident in the narrow street de la Feronniere, and Francis Ravaillac, standing on the wheel, drove his knife through the monarch's heart.

The Duke of Epernon, sitting at his side, threw his cloak over the body and ordered the carriage back to the Louvre.
"They have killed him, 'e ammazato,'" cried Concini (so says tradition), thrusting his head into the Queen's bedchamber.
[Michelet, 197.

It is not probable that the documents concerning the trial, having been so carefully suppressed from the beginning, especially the confession dictated to Voisin--who wrote it kneeling on the ground, and was perhaps so appalled at its purport that he was afraid to write it legibly--will ever see the light.

I add in the Appendix some contemporary letters of persons, as likely as any one to know what could be known, which show how dreadful were the suspicions which men entertained, and which they hardly ventured to whisper to each other].
That blow had accomplished more than a great army could have done, and Spain now reigned in Paris.