Part 153 (1/2)

For a week Charles was confined to his bed by a slow fever, interrupted by violent attacks which resembled epileptic fits. During these attacks he uttered shrieks which the guards, watching in his chamber, heard with terror, and the echoes of which reached to the farthest corner of the old Louvre, aroused so often by many a dreadful sound. Then, when these attacks pa.s.sed, Charles, completely exhausted, sank back with closed eyes into the arms of his nurse.

To say that, each in his way, without communicating the feeling to the other, for mother and son sought to avoid rather than to see each other, to say that Catharine de Medicis and the Duc d'Alencon revolved sinister thoughts in the depths of their hearts would be to say that in that nest of vipers moved a hideous swarm.

Henry was shut up in his chamber in the prison; and at his own request no one had been allowed to see him, not even Marguerite. In the eyes of every one his imprisonment was an open disgrace. Catharine and D'Alencon, thinking him lost, breathed once more, and Henry ate and drank more calmly, hoping that he was forgotten.

At court no one suspected the cause of the King's illness. Maitre Ambroise Pare and Mazille, his colleague, thought it was inflammation of the bowels, and had prescribed a regimen which aided the special drink given by Rene. Charles received this, his only nourishment, three times a day from the hands of his nurse.

La Mole and Coconnas were at Vincennes in closest confinement.

Marguerite and Madame de Nevers had made a dozen attempts to reach them, or at least to send them a note, but without success. One morning Charles felt somewhat better, and wished the court to a.s.semble. This was the usual custom in the morning, although for some time no levee had taken place. The doors were accordingly thrown open, and it was easy to see, from his pale cheeks, yellow forehead, and the feverish light in his deep-sunken eyes, which were surrounded by dark circles, what frightful ravages the unknown disease had made on the young monarch.

The royal chamber was soon filled with curious and interested courtiers.

Catharine, D'Alencon, and Marguerite had been informed that the King was to hold an audience. Therefore all three entered, at short intervals, one by one; Catharine calm, D'Alencon smiling, Marguerite dejected.

Catharine seated herself by the side of the bed without noticing the look that Charles gave her as he saw her approach.

Monsieur d'Alencon stood at the foot.

Marguerite leaned against a table, and seeing the pale brow, the worn features, and deep-sunken eyes of her brother, could not repress a sigh and a tear.

Charles, whom nothing escaped, saw the tear and heard the sigh, and with his head made a slight motion to Marguerite.

This sign, slight as it was, lighted the face of the poor Queen of Navarre, to whom Henry had not had time or perhaps had not wished to say anything.

She feared for her husband, she trembled for her lover. For herself she had no fear; she knew La Mole well, and felt she could rely on him.

”Well, my dear son,” said Catharine, ”how do you feel?”

”Better, mother, better.”

”What do your physicians say?”

”My physicians? They are clever doctors, mother,” said Charles, bursting into a laugh. ”I take great pleasure, I admit, in hearing them discuss my malady. Nurse, give me something to drink.”

The nurse brought Charles a cup of his usual beverage.

”What do they order you to take, my son?”

”Oh! madame, who knows anything about their preparations?” said the King, hastily swallowing the drink.

”What my brother needs,” said Francois, ”is to rise and get out into the open air; hunting, of which he is so fond, would do him a great deal of good.”

”Yes,” said Charles, with a smile, the meaning of which it was impossible for the duke to understand, ”and yet the last hunt did me great harm.”

Charles uttered these words in such a strange way that the conversation, in which the others present had not taken part, stopped. Then the King gave a slight nod of his head. The courtiers understood that the audience was over, and withdrew one after another.

D'Alencon started to approach his brother, but some secret feeling stopped him. He bowed and went out.

Marguerite seized the wasted hand her brother held out to her, pressed it, and kissed it. Then she, in turn, withdrew.

”Dear Margot!” murmured Charles.