Information was brought that the king of Sicily was about to embark with his army. This gave great joy, but did not mitigate the evils. The heats became insupportable; want of water, bad food, the diseases, and chagrin at being shut up in a camp without being allowed to fight, completed the discouragement of both soldiers and leaders. Louis endeavoured to animate them by his words and his example, but he himself was seized with the dysentery. His sons, Prince Philip, the duke de Nevers, and the king of Navarre, with the legate, all experienced the effects of the contagion. The duke de Nevers, who was much beloved by the king, was so dangerously ill that he was transported on ship-board. Louis was constantly asking news of his son, but his attendants preserved a mournful silence. At length it was announced to the king that his son was dead, and, notwithstanding his piety and resignation, he was deeply affected. A short time after the Pope’s legate died, much regretted by the clergy and the soldiers of the cross, who looked upon him as their spiritual father. In spite of his sufferings, in spite of his griefs, Louis was constantly engaged in the care of his army. He issued his orders as long as he had strength, dividing his time between the duties of a Christian and those of a monarch. At length the fever increased; no longer able to attend to the wants of the army, or even to exercises of piety, he had a crucifix placed before him, and in silence implored the aid of Him who had suffered for mankind. [Illustration: DEATH OF LOUIS THE NINTH.] The whole army was in mourning; the commonest soldiers moved about in tears; the prayers of all were offered up for the preservation of so good a king. After giving most pious and salutary advice to his son Philip, both as a man and a king, and after taking an affectionate leave of his family, this good, religious, and exemplary man, but most mistaken monarch, expired at three o’clock in the evening of the 25th of August, 1270. On the very day of the death of Louis IX., his brother, the duke of Anjou, landed with his army near Carthage. The trumpets and instruments of war resounded on the beach, but a solemn silence prevailed in the camp, and no one went to meet the Sicilians, whom they had looked for with so much impatience. Sad presentiments took possession of Charles; he preceded his army, flew to the tent of his brother, and found his body stretched upon its bed of ashes. Charles prostrated himself at his feet, which he bathed with his tears, calling upon him sometimes as his brother, sometimes as his lord. He remained in this attitude a long while, without heeding any of the persons who surrounded him, constantly addressing Louis as if he were living, and reproaching himself in accents of despair for not having heard, for not having imbibed the last words of the most affectionate of brothers, of the best of kings.