“Permit me, my lord, to prevent your approaching your son’s bedside just now—­doctors are often very disagreeable, you know, and have to impose trying conditions upon those to whom their patients are dear.  I beseech you not to go near the Duke of Vallombreuse at present.  Your beloved presence might, in the excessively weak and exhausted condition of my patient, cause dangerous agitation.  Any strong emotion would be instantly fatal to him, his hold upon life is still so slight.  Perfect tranquility is his only safety.  If all goes well—­as I trust and believe that it will—­in a few days he will have regained his strength in a measure, his wound will be healing, and you can probably be with him as much as you like, without any fear of doing him harm.  I know that this is very trying to your highness, but, believe me, it is necessary to your son’s well-being.”

The prince, very much relieved, and yielding readily to the doctor’s wishes, returned to his own apartment; where he occupied himself with some religious reading until noon, when the major-domo came to announce that dinner was on the table.

“Go and tell my daughter, the Comtesse Isabelle de Lineuil—­such is the title by which she is to be addressed henceforth—­that I request her to join me at dinner,” said the prince to the major-domo, who hastened off to obey this order.

Isabelle went quickly down the grand staircase with a light step, and smiled to herself as she passed through the noble hall where she had been so frightened by the two figures in armour, on the occasion of her bold exploring expedition the first night after her arrival at the chateau.  Everything looked very different now—­the bright sunshine was pouring in at the windows, and large fires of juniper, and other sweet-smelling woods, had completely done away with the damp, chilly, heavy atmosphere that pervaded the long disused rooms when she was in them before.

In the splendid dining-room she found a table sumptuously spread, and her father already seated at it, in his large, high-backed, richly carved chair, behind which stood two lackeys, in superb liveries.  As she approached him she made a most graceful curtsey, which had nothing in the least theatrical about it, and would have met with approbation even in courtly circles.  A servant was holding the chair destined for her, and with some timidity, but no apparent embarrassment, she took her seat opposite to the prince.  She was served with soup and wine, and then with course after course of delicate, tempting viands; but she could not eat her heart was too full—­her nerves were still quivering, from the terror and excitement of the preceding day and night.

She was dazzled and agitated by this sudden change of fortune, anxious about her brother, now lying at the point of death, and, above all, troubled and grieved at her separation from her lover—­so she could only make a pretence of dining, and played languidly with the food on her plate.