that the piteous passion of love in the tones of the
poor mother did not break down entirely the haughty coldness of the
royal son. The Duke did indeed bend his stately knee, and touch his
mother's lips with his, but there was no shadow of response to her
clinging clasp, no warmth, however faint, in the kiss into which she
poured her whole heart.

"Jean, little Jean! say thou lovest me?"

"Madame, it is a son's duty. I pray your blessing."

"I bless thee with my whole heart!" she said. "I pray God bless thee in
every hour of thy life, grant thee health, happiness, and victory, and
crown thee at last with everlasting bliss. Now go, my dear heart! The
old mother will not keep thee to thy hurt. God be with thee, and bless
thee!"

Even then he did not linger; he did not even give her, unsolicited, one
last kiss. She raised herself on one side, to look after him and listen
to him to the latest moment, the light still beaming in her sunken eyes.
His parting words were not addressed to her, but she heard them.

"Now then, Du Chatel," said the Duke to his squire in the corridor, "let
us waste no more time. This irksome duty done, I would be away
immediately, lest I be called back."

The light died out of the eager eyes, and the old white head sank back
upon the pillow, the face turned away from the watchers. Amphillis
approached her, and tenderly smoothed the satin coverlet.

"Let be!" she said, in a low voice. "My heart is broken."

Amphillis, who could scarcely restrain her own sobs, glanced at the
Archbishop for direction. He answered her by pressing a finger on his
lips. Perrote came in, her lips set, and her brows drawn. She had
evidently overheard those significant words. Then they heard the tramp
of the horses in the courtyard, the sound of the trumpet, the cry of
"Notre Dame de Gwengamp!" and they knew that the Duke was departing.
They did not know, however, that the parting guest was sped by a few
exceedingly scathing words from his sister, who had heard his remark to
the squire. She informed him, in conclusion, that he could strike off
her head, if he had no compunction in staining his spotless ermine
banner with his own kindly blood. It would make very little difference
to her, and, judging by the way in which he used his dying mother, she
was sure it could make none to him.

The Duke flung himself into his saddle, and dashed off down the slope
from the gate without deigning either a respon