Humfrey again muttered something about no more than his duty; but by this time sounds were heard betokening the approach of the melancholy procession, who, having been relieved by a relay of servants sent at once from the house, were bearing home the wounded youth.  Philip first of all dashed in hurrying and stumbling.  He had been unprepared by hearing Humfrey’s account, and, impetuous and affectionate as he was, was entirely unrestrained, and flinging himself on his knees with the half-audible words, ’Oh!  Lucy!  Lucy!  He is as good as dead!’ hid his face between his arms on his sister’s lap, and sobbed with the abandonment of a child, and with all his youthful strength; so much adding to the consternation and confusion, that, finding all Lucy’s gentle entreaties vain, his father at last roughly pulled up his face by main force, and said, ’Philip, hold your tongue!  Are we to have you on our hands as well as my Lady?  I shall send you home this moment!  Let your sister go.’

This threat reduced the boy to silence.  Lucy, who was wanted to assist in preparing Berenger’s room, disengaged herself; but he remained in the same posture, his head buried on the seat of the chair, and the loud weeping only forcibly stifled by forcing his handkerchief into his mouth, as if he had been in violent bodily pain.  Nor did he venture again to look up as the cause of all his distress was slowly carried into the hall, corpse-like indeed.  The bearers had changed several times, all but a tall, fair Norman youth, who through the whole transit had supported the head, endeavouring to guard it from shocks.  When the mother and the rest came forward, he made a gesture to conceal the face, saying in French, ‘Ah!  Mesdames; this is no sight for you.’

Indeed the head and face were almost entirely hidden by bandages, and it was not till Berenger had been safely deposited on a large carved bed that the anxious relatives were permitted to perceive the number and extent of his hurts; and truly it was only by the breath, the vital warmth, and the heavy moans when he was disturbed, or the dressings of the wounds were touched, that showed him still to be a living man.  There proved to be no less than four wounds—­a shot through the right shoulder, the right arm also broken with a terrible blow with a sword, a broad gash from the left temple to the right ear, and worse than all, ’le baiser d’Eustacie,’ a bullet wound where the muzzle of the pistol had absolutely been so close as to have burnt and blackened the cheek; so that his life was, as Osbert averred, chiefly owing to the assassin’s jealousy of his personal beauty, which had directed his shot to the cheek rather than the head; and thus, though the bullet had terribly shattered the upper jaw and roof of the mouth, and had passed out through the back of the head, there was a hope that it had not penetrated the seat of life or reason.  The other gash on the face was but a sword-wound, and though frightful