‘I cannot thank you Majesty enough,’ said Berenger; ’My child’s rights are now secure in England at least, and this’—­as he held the other paper for the King—­’will give her to me.

‘Ah! take it for what it is worth,’ said the King, as he scrawled his ‘CHARLES’ upon it.  ’This order must be used promptly, or it will avail you nothing.  Write to Ambroise how you speed; that is, if it will bring me one breath of good news.’  And as Berenger kissed his hand with tearful, inarticulate thanks, he proceeded, ’Save for that cause, I would ask you to come to me again.  It does me good.  It is like a breath from Montpipeau—­the last days of hope—­before the frenzy—­the misery.

‘Whenever your Majesty does me the honour—–­’ began Berenger, forgetting all except the dying man.

‘I am not so senseless,’ interrupted the King sharply; ’it would be losing the only chance of undoing one wrong.  Only, Ribaumont,’ he added fervently, ’for once let me hear that one man has pardoned me.

‘Sire, Sire,’ sobbed Berenger, totally overcome, ’how can I speak the word?  How feel aught but love, loyalty, gratitude?

Charles half smiled again as he said in sad meditation—­’Ah! it was in me to have been a good king if they had let me.  Think of me, bid your friend Sidney think of me, as I would have been—­not as I have been—­and pray, pray for me.’  Then hiding his face in his handkerchief, in a paroxysm of grief and horror, he murmured in a stifled tone, ’Blood, blood, deliver me, good Lord!

In effect, there was so sudden a gush of blood from mouth and nose that Berenger sprang to his feet in dismay, and was bona fide performing the part of assistant to the surgeon, when, at the Queen’s cry, not only the nurse Philippe hurried in, but with her a very dark, keen-looking man, who at once began applying strong essences to the King’s face, as Berenger supported his head.  In a few moments Pare looked up at Berenger, and setting him free, intimated to him, between sign and whisper, to go into Philippe’s room and wait there; and it was high time, for though the youth had felt nothing in the stress of the moment, he was almost swooning when he reached the little chamber, and lay back in the nurse’s chair, with closed eyes, scarcely conscious how time went, or even where he was, till he was partly aroused by hearing steps returning.

‘The poor young man,’ said Philippe’s kind voice, ’he is fainting.  Ah! no wonder it overcame any kind heart.

‘How is the King?’ Berenger tried to say, but his own voice still sounded unnatural and far away.

‘He is better for the time, and will sleep,’ said Pare, administering to his other patient some cordial drops as he spoke.  ’There, sir; you will soon be able to return to the carriage.  This has been a sore trial to your strength.

‘But I have gained all—­all I could hope,’ said Berenger, looking at his precious papers.  ’But, alas! the poor King!