"Noble girl!" exclaimed the princess. "Thus devoted, whilst he loves another! How far more generous than was I; ay, I believe thee--couldst thou lay down thy life for him, thou wouldst do it." "And is there no hope of seeking pardon at his hands?" resumed the afflicted girl. "In time, perhaps--at another opportunity," replied Margaret; "but now my mother's influence triumphs." "Another opportunity!" sobbed Jocelyne. "In time! Alas! such words are words of mockery--the king is dying--at his death the Queen-mother will command; and what have we then to hope?" "Dying? the king--my brother!" exclaimed the Queen of Navarre--you rave, girl! he is ill--I know, but"---- "Know you not, madam," interrupted Jocelyne, "what all the city of Paris knows--that the king cannot live long--not many hours, perhaps--that he lies upon his death-bed?" "Charles--dying! And my mother has concealed it from me!" cried Margaret. "I see through all her designs! she would keep us from his presence, that he bestow not upon my husband, whom he loves, the reins of power at his death. Charles--dying! Then there lies our only hope. If he die, let Henry of Navarre be Regent--he will listen to my prayer--and La Mole is saved. Yes, there lies the only chance. I will to my husband. We may have still time to effect our purpose, and secure the Regency, in these few _last hours of the reign_." CHAPTER V. "O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye; The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair; My heart hath one poor string to stay it by-- * * * "All this thou see'st is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty." * * * "But now a king--now thus-- This was now a king, and now is clay." SHAKSPEARE. The miserable king lay, indeed, upon his bed of death. He had refused to quit the room which he usually occupied, all encumbered as it was with his favourite hounds, his hunting accoutrements, and these horns, the winding of which had been his favourite amusement, and had contributed so powerfully to affect his lungs, and undermine his constitution. A sort of couch had been prepared for him of mattresses and cushions upon the floor; and upon that rude bed was the emaciated form of the dying monarch extended. To his customary attacks of blood-spitting, had succeeded a strange, and, until then, unknown symptom of malady, from which the very physicians recoiled with horror. Drops of red moisture, which bore all the appearance of blood, had burst, like perspiration, from the pores of the body; and there were moments when the wretched man writhed on his couch in the double anguish of body and mind, that, in spite of the efforts of the physicians to remove this extraordinary appearance, he might have been thought to be bathed in gore. It was indeed an agony, and a bloody sweat!