“You would have me understand that Bonnivet has died by your hand? ha!” demanded François. “Even so, sire,” rejoined Bourbon. “His guilty soul has just gone to its account. In avenging my own wrongs upon his head, I have avenged you.” “He has much to answer for,” exclaimed the king. “But Heaven forgive him, even as I forgive him.” “I will not trouble you with my presence further, sire,” said Bourbon. “I have only intruded upon you now to give you the assurance that we shall never forget what is due to your exalted rank, and that our victory will be used with moderation and generosity.” “What generosity can I expect from the Emperor, or from you?” cried François, bitterly. “Answer me one question ere you go. How many men have you lost in the battle?” “Our total losses, as far as we can estimate them, are under seven hundred men, sire,” replied Bourbon. “And mine! how many have I lost?” demanded the king. “Fear not to speak,” he added, seeing Bourbon hesitate; “I would know the exact truth.” “Sire,” replied Bourbon, in a sombre tone, “it is impossible to compute your losses at this moment, but I shall not overstate them in saying that eight thousand of your soldiers have fallen upon this plain. Twenty of your proudest nobles are lying within a few paces of us.” Groaning as if his heart would burst, François sank backwards. Bourbon signed to the soldiers to proceed with their burden, and then rode off with his Burgundian lances. François did not again unclose his eyes, and scarcely, indeed, manifested any signs of consciousness, until he was taken into the court of the Certosa. When he was there set down, the prior with the principal monks came forth to meet him, and would have conveyed him to the interior of the convent, but François refused to have his wounds dressed till he had prayed to Heaven, and desired the prior to conduct him at once to the church. His injunctions were complied with, and the prior gave him his arm, for he could not walk without assistance. On entering the magnificent fabric, he was taken to the nearest chapel, and ere he knelt down his eye fell upon this inscription on the wall: _BONUM MIHI QUIA HUMILIA STI ME, UT DISCAM JUSTIFICATIONES TUAS._ The unfortunate king could not fail to apply these Words to his own situation. Profoundly touched, he humbled himself before Heaven, acknowledging his manifold and great offences, and imploring forgiveness. His devotions ended, he was taken to the principal chamber of the monastery, where his wounds were carefully dressed. For three days he remained at the Certosa, the monastery being strictly guarded by the Spanish soldiery, and during his detention there he was visited by the Viceroy of Naples, the Marquis del Vasto, and Pescara, who had only partially recovered from the wounds he had received in the battle.