"Madame," said the Duke, mindful of the proprieties, "it gives me indescribable grief to find you thus. I am also deeply distressed that it should be impossible for me to remain with you. I expect news from Bretagne every day--almost every hour--which I hope will summon me back thither to triumph over my rebellious subjects, and to resume my throne in victory. You will, therefore, grant me excuse if it be impossible for me to do more than kiss your hand and entreat your blessing." "Not stay, my Jean!" she said, in piteous accents. "Not stay, when thou hast come so far to see me! Dost thou know that I am dying?" "Madame, I am infinitely grieved to perceive it. But reasons of state are imperative and paramount." "My Lord will pardon me for observing," said the Archbishop's voice, "with a royal kinsman of his own, that God may grant him many kingdoms, but he can never have but one mother." The Duke's answer was in his haughtiest manner. "I assure you of my regret, holy Father. Necessity has no law." "And no compassion?" "Jean, my Jean! Only one minute more--one minute cannot be of importance. My little lad, my best-loved! lay thy lips to mine, and say thou lovest thine old mother, and let me bless thee, and then go, if it must be, and I will die." Amphillis wondered that the piteous passion of love in the tones of the poor mother did not break down entirely the haughty coldness of the royal son. The Duke did indeed bend his stately knee, and touch his mother's lips with his, but there was no shadow of response to her clinging clasp, no warmth, however faint, in the kiss into which she poured her whole heart. "Jean, little Jean! say thou lovest me?" "Madame, it is a son's duty. I pray your blessing." "I bless thee with my whole heart!" she said. "I pray God bless thee in every hour of thy life, grant thee health, happiness, and victory, and crown thee at last with everlasting bliss. Now go, my dear heart! The old mother will not keep thee to thy hurt. God be with thee, and bless thee!" Even then he did not linger; he did not even give her, unsolicited, one last kiss. She raised herself on one side, to look after him and listen to him to the latest moment, the light still beaming in her sunken eyes. His parting words were not addressed to her, but she heard them. "Now then, Du Chatel," said the Duke to his squire in the corridor, "let us waste no more time. This irksome duty done, I would be away immediately, lest I be called back." The light died out of the eager eyes, and the old white head sank back upon the pillow, the face turned away from the watchers. Amphillis approached her, and tenderly smoothed the satin coverlet. "Let be!" she said, in a low voice. "My heart is broken."