A wind was rising from the sea, ruffling the waves, shaking the cordage of the anchored ships and lifting the little pennons of England that struggled at the main masts. This wind beat at the diamond-shaped leaded casements and scattered the leaves from the poplar tree without in a yellow shower like golden ducats dropped by a reluctant hand across the prospect of sea and town. The Princess Jehanne came back to the bed with the doctor; he was a Spaniard, who had been in the service of Don Pedro and was renowned for his knowledge of Eastern medicine. He spoke in French to the Prince, with a courteous humility. “Fair Seigneur, permit me to look to the little Prince. And for yourself, it would be wiser that you should rest.” Edward glanced up into his cool, composed face; then rose heavily and seated himself in the stiff chair against the wall. The doctor bent over the child, delicately touched his brow, then called, in soft Spanish, one of the women, who came with a small horn beaker in her hand. The little Prince was moaning. When he saw the draught he tried to push it away, and shut his lips obstinately. “Ah, _par dè_!” cried the father, “what manner of knight will you become?” The child sat up, shuddering, but meek, and swallowed the noisome liquid without a protest. “Is he better?” whispered the Princess Jehanne, drawing the coverlet anxiously up over him as he lay down. The doctor shook his head. “Not–worse?” she faltered. “That I cannot say,” he replied. “The fever is very high.” She glanced at her husband sitting gloomy and silent, and beckoned one of the women and whispered to her to fetch Prince Richard, who might charm the Prince out of his melancholy. But when his second son was brought and led up to him, Edward showed no manner of interest. Yet the child was of a neat and exact beauty and very richly dressed in brown silk and very humble in his duty. “Were you afraid of the lance play?” asked his father. Richard looked up in a mischievous and charming manner. “I do prefer, Seigneur, to go in a litter to horseback,” he lisped. “Do you not love to see the jousts?” frowned Edward. “I like to play at the ball,” returned Richard. “Take him away for a false knight,” said the Prince wearily. “_Ahè_, at four years old!” cried Jehanne of Kent indignantly. She came round the bed and caught the younger Prince to her bosom swiftly. “He is my son,” flashed Edward, “and he loves not arms. Take him hence.” The Princess gave Richard to the lady who had brought him, and as he found himself being carried away he began to wail and cry, which completed the Prince’s contempt; in truth he was angry with Richard for being well and lusty while his brother lay sick. The Princess noticed his exclamation of annoyance as the child broke into sobs. “You are not fair to Richard,” she said, flushing.