"Ay, but I have thirst enough," replied the young man; "one must eat and drink, you know, my lord the king. Would it were not so." "It often happens, I have heard," said Charles, addressing himself to the regent, "that what a sick man fancies will cure him, is of a higher virtue than all medicines--what he believes destructive, will destroy him. He says, I think, he was quite well till he came here." "Oh, how well!" exclaimed the dying prince; "life was then a blessing indeed, and now a curse. Each breath of air, each pleasant sight or sound, went thrilling through my veins with the wild revelry of joy. The song birds and the flowers were full of calm delight, and a gallop over the breezy hill was like a madness of enjoyment. But now--now--now---how is it all changed now! Verily, as the wise man said, 'The song of the grasshopper is a burden.'" "We must change all this," said Charles, greatly moved; "we must have you forth from Pavia to some purer air. My own physician shall see you." The unfortunate young man shook his head, and again turned his eyes upon his uncle with a meaning look. "It is vain, my lord the king," he said, "or rather it is too late. My sickness has obtained too great a mastery. The subtle enemy has got me completely in his toils--the sickness I mean; he has got me in every limb, in every vein; a little more and a little more each day--do you understand me, sire?--and he will never loose his hold while I have a breath or a pulsation left. But I have a wife, you know, and a child--a fine boy--who is to be Duke of Milan. For them I crave your royal protection. Let them be as your wards--indeed, I will make them so. If--if," he continued, hesitating, and turning a furtive glance towards his uncle; "if I could see your majesty alone, I would communicate my last wishes." "You shall--you shall see me," said Charles, with a gush of feeling which brought the tears to his eyes. But those feelings were destined to be still more excited. While he yet spoke there was a noise without, and a woman's voice was heard speaking in high and excited tones. "I _will_ pass," she said, "who dares to oppose me? I will speak with the noble King of France; he is my cousin--he will be my protector." The moment after the door burst open, and a beautiful young girl--for she was no more--entered, and threw herself at Charles's feet. Her hair had fallen from its bandages, and flowed in beautiful profusion over her neck and shoulders. Her dress, though rich, was torn, as if main force had been employed to detain her, and her eyes were full of the eagerness and fire of a late struggle. Ludovic the Moor turned pale, and two men, who appeared at the door by which she entered, made him a gesture of inquiry, as if asking him whether they should tear her from the king's feet. Ludovic answered not but by a frown; and in the meantime the princess poured forth her tale and her petitions in a voice that trembled with anxiety, and hope, and terror.