[Illustration] CHAPTER IX. _In which is related the Sickness of Auristella through the Witchcraft of the Jewess, Zabulon's Wife._ Disease durst not at once, attack face to face Auristella's beauty, afraid lest its hideousness should be alarmed at so much loveliness, and so it began by the limbs. She was seized with shiverings at dawn, which prevented her from rising as usual; these were followed by a loss of appetite; next, the brilliance of her eyes became clouded and dull; and dismay at such sudden illness filled the hearts both of Constance and Periander, who immediately apprehended the worst result. She had not been taken ill two hours, and already the bright roses of her cheeks were of a livid purple, the carmine of her sweet lips was changed to green, and the pearl-like teeth became the colour of topazes, her very hair had altered its colour, her hands stiffened, and her whole countenance changed. Nevertheless, she was still beautiful to them who saw her, not as she was _now_ in her bed, but in their hearts, where her image lay. Her voice, in a day or two after, could just reach their ears in feeble accents half uttered. The French ladies joined in assisting Constance to tend and nurse her, and so great was the attention they paid, that at last they required it for themselves. Physicians were sent for, the best that could be got, at least those who were most noted for skill, for a good opinion helps the proper medicine, and thus we as often meet with lucky doctors as fortunate soldiers--good luck and good fortune are one and the same thing--and one may find it as well in a bag of sackcloth as in a closet full of silver. But neither in silver nor in sackcloth did any find its way to Auristella, which drove Constance and Antonio to despair. Not so was it with the duke; his love had been engendered solely by the great beauty of Auristella, and thus, when that beauty was fled, his love also fled with it, which must be deeply rooted in the heart to be strong enough to follow the beloved one even to the brink of the grave. Death is very hideous, disease is near akin to it, and to love what is ugly seems something unnatural, and worthy to be called a miracle. Auristella faded away from hour to hour. Those about her had given up all hope; Periander alone, firm and loving as ever, with a brave and trusting spirit, faced adverse fortune and even death itself, which threatened him, in losing Auristella. Fifteen days did the Duke de Nemours wait in hopes of seeing her get better, during which time everybody was continually questioning the physicians about her health, but none could speak with certainty, seeing that none knew the cause of her illness.