‘M.  Pare,’ exclaimed the poor Queen, ’take him away.

‘No, Madame,’ said the King, holding tight in his hot grasp Berenger’s hand, which was as pale as his own, long, thin, and wasted, but cold from strong emotion; ’take not away the only welcome sight I have seen for well-nigh two years.’  He coughed, and the handkerchief he put to his lips had blood on it; but he did not quit his hold of his visitor, and presently said in a feeble whisper, ’Tell me, how did you escape?

Pare, over the King’s head, signed to him to make his narrative take time; and indeed his speech was of necessity so slow, that by the time he had related how Osbert had brought him safely to England, the King had recovered himself so as to say, ’See what it is to have a faithful servant.  Which of those they have left me would do as much for me?  And now, being once away with your life, what brings you back to this realm of ours, after your last welcome?

’I left my wife here, Sire.

’Ha! and the cousin would have married her—­obtained permission to call himself Nid de Merle—­but she slipped through his clumsy fingers; did she not?  Did you know anything of her, Madame?

‘No,’ said the Queen, looking up.  ’She wrote to me once from her convent; but I knew I could do nothing for her but bring her enemies’ notice on her; so I made no answer.

Berenger could hardly conceal his start of indignation—­less at the absolute omission, than at the weary indifference of the Queen’s confession.  Perhaps the King saw it, for he added, ’So it is, Ribaumont; the kindest service we can do our friends is to let them alone; and, after all, it was not the worse for her.  She did evade her enemies?

‘Yes, Sire,’ said Berenger, commanding and steadying his voice with great difficulty, ’she escaped in time to give birth to our child in the ruined loft of an old grange of the Templars, under the care of a Huguenot farmer, and a pastor who had known my father.  Then she took refuge in La Sablerie, and wrote to my mother, deeming me dead.  I was just well enough to go in quest of her.  I came—­ah!  Sire, I found only charred ruins.  Your Majesty knows how Huguenot bourgs are dealt with.

’And she—–?

Berenger answered but by a look.

‘Why did you come to tell me this?’ said the King, passionately.  ’Do you not know that they have killed me already?  I thought you came because there was still some one I could aid.

‘There is, there is, Sire,’ said Berenger, for once interrupting royalty.  ’None save you can give me my child.  It is almost certain that a good priest saved it; but it is in a convent, and only with a royal order can one of my religion either obtain it, or even have my questions answered.

‘Nor with one in Paris,’ said the King dryly; ’but in the country the good mothers may still honour their King’s hand.  Here, Ambroise, take pen and ink, and write the order.  To whom?