For a moment or two the king seemed confused and almost stunned; but the accident he had met with was so commonplace and apparently insignificant that nobody took much notice of it. The ladies who followed the queen were inclined to smile, and Charles himself treated it more lightly than any one. He pressed his hand, it is true, once or twice upon the top of his head, and took off his bonnet for the cool air, but he declared it was "nothing--a mere nothing." A paleness had spread over the young monarch's face, however, which Lorenzo Visconti did not like; but the royal party were soon in the dry deep fosse, and the memorable _jeu de paume_ began. Charles prided himself upon his skill in all manly exercises, and after looking on for a time, he took a racket, and joined in the game. He was, or he was suffered to appear, the best player present; but after he had played one score he gave up the racket, and withdrew from the game, remaining for a short while as a spectator; and Lorenzo remarked that, as the king stood looking on, he twice pressed his hand upon his heart. At length he turned to the queen, and the rest of the party who had accompanied him thither, and proposed to return into the castle, adding a few words to Lorenzo on his approaching marriage. The young nobleman walked nearly by his side, but a little behind, and all passed the postern, and entered the narrow gallery or corridor, still talking. When they had nearly reached a flight of steps which led to the halls above, the king turned suddenly towards Lorenzo, saying, "Remember," and then fell at once upon the pavement. A scene of indescribable confusion followed. Some of the attendants raised the monarch to carry him up the stairs, but the chief chamberlain forbade them to move him till a physician should be called. Some cushions were brought to support his head, and speedily a number of fresh faces crowded the passage; but the king remained without consciousness. Some broken words fell from his lips, but no one could discover what they meant, and, after a short struggle with death, Charles VIII. passed away, beloved and mourned rather than respected. CHAPTER XXXV. Again let us change the scene. There is another whose course we must trace, from the fatal, the terrible moment when she parted from Lorenzo Visconti in Tuscany, to the death of Charles VIII. Ere we do so, however, it may be needful to notice a small incident which affected greatly her fate, without appearing to be in a direct manner connected with it.