“That I should lean on you, _joli coeur_!” he said, and rose unsteadily, holding to her arm. “Look well to this child, Jehanne,” he added in a sterner tone, “for meseems he will wear the crown sooner than I—” “_Hèlas!_” she answered tenderly.“ This is not Edward who speaks so sadly—” “Jehanne,” he said, “I shall never wear mail again.” She shook her head, looking up at him, and tried to smile. “I shall no more set lance in rest nor draw sword,” he continued. “I have been useless sick so long, and now I feel death in my bones.” “Never,” said the gentle Jehanne, “have you come back to me in this ill humour–the air of England will restore you, seigneur.” “The air of England will be no balm to my hurts,” he answered. “Take me to the child.” She led him gently to the next chamber, her own, where Prince Edward had lain two days in an increasing fever. It was a tall and glooming room, hung with cloths covered with stitching in bright wools. The two arched windows opened on to the courtyard and the distant prospect of the sea, and were crossed by the boughs of a poplar tree that shook golden and amber leaves against the mullions. An Eastern rug spread the floor, and there was an open hearth on which some logs smouldered. The bed stood out from the wall opposite the windows, and was hung with curtains of clean blue and white check linen; at the foot of it were two chairs, on one of which a white dog slept. Beside the bed was a _prie dieu_, with an illuminated book on the rest, beneath which hung a long strip of embroidered silk, beyond that several coffers and chests, still unpacked, and a couch piled with skins and garments. Two women and a man were talking together over the fire; they rose hastily at the entrance of the Prince, but he took no heed of them. Aided by his wife, he came to the end of the bed and stood holding by the light rail. Under the blue and white frill of the canopy a child lay asleep, his brown hair a tangle on the stiff white bolster, his flushed cheek pressed against his hand. The coverlet that was worked with the arms of England on a blue ground was drawn up to his chin, his little body only slightly disturbed the smoothness of the heavy fall of the silk. “In what manner did he become sick?” demanded the Prince hoarsely. “God wot, you might have looked to him better.” The Princess quivered beneath his hand on her shoulder. “Neither he nor Richard,” she answered, “has been from my sight since you left me; but there has been much sickness in Bordeaux.” The tears overbrimmed her eyes and ran down her pale cheeks. “I have been watching him these two days without sleep,” she added. Edward of Wales did not answer her; his hollow eyes were fixed upon his heir–that third Edward who was to carry on the splendour of England and the glory of Plantagenet.