“Permit me, my brother,” says he, “to leave you, in order to descend and receive your august sister in person. In the meantime recover your health. Reckon upon my willingness to serve you. Some other time we will meet; then we can treat more in detail of these matters, when your Majesty is stronger and better able to converse.” Charles takes an affectionate leave of Francis, descends the narrow stairs, and with much ceremony receives the Duchess. “I rejoice, madame,” says he, “to offer you in person the homage of all Spain, and my own hearty thanks for the courage and devotion you have shown in the service of the King, my brother. He is a prisoner no longer. The conditions of release shall forthwith be prepared by my ministers.” “Is the King fully aware what those conditions are, Sire?” Marguerite coldly asks. Charles was silent. “I fear our mother, Madame Louise, Regent of France,” continues the Duchesse d’Alençon, “may find it difficult to accept your conditions, even though it be to liberate the Sovereign of France, her own beloved son.” “Madame,” replies Charles evasively, “I will not permit this occasion, when I have the happiness of first saluting you within my realm, to be occupied with state affairs. Rely on my desire to set my brother free. Meanwhile the King will, I hope, recover his strength. Pressing business now calls me back to Toledo. Adieu! most illustrious princess, to whom I offer all that Madrid contains for your service. Permit me to kiss your hands. Salute my brother, the King, from me. Once more, royal lady, adieu!” Marguerite curtseys to the ground. The Emperor, with his head uncovered, mounts his horse, again salutes her, and attended by his retinue puts spurs to his steed and rides from the Alcazar on his return to Toledo. Marguerite fully understands the treachery of his words. Her heart swelling with indignation, she slowly ascends to the King’s chamber. “Has the Emperor departed already?” Francis eagerly asks her. “Yes, my brother; pressing business, he says, calls him back to Toledo,” replies Marguerite bitterly, speaking very slowly. “What! gone so soon, before giving me an opportunity of discussing with him the terms of my freedom. Surely, my sister, this is strange,” says Francis, turning eagerly towards the Duchess, and then sinking back pale and exhausted on his pillows. Marguerite seats herself beside him, takes his hand tenderly within both her own, and gazes at him in silence. “But, my sister, did my brother, the Emperor, say _nothing_ to you of his speedy return?” “Nothing,” answers Marguerite, drily. “Yet he assured me, with his own lips, that I was already free, and that the conditions of release would be prepared immediately.” “Dear brother,” says the Duchess, “has your imprisonment at Madrid, and the conduct of the Emperor to you this long time past, inclined you to believe what he says?” “I, a king myself, should be grieved to doubt a brother sovereign’s word.”