Very still, and with closed eyes he lay, but his
breathing was laboured, and from time to time a hoarse rattle sounded
in his throat. Presently his eyes opened, and he looked at me with a
faint smile. Then pointing to the King's star, he whispered, "For
Marie," and I, not trusting myself to speak, bowed my head.

"True friend," said he softly, "ever loyal! Do not grieve, Albert; it
must be for the best. I am happy, quite happy. Let me clasp your
hand. Ah, heaven was good in giving me such a friend!"

His voice became more and more broken; the last sentence I could
understand only by following closely the movements of his lips. What
could I say? I could not bid him hope; we both knew he was dying, and
that, in fact, his very moments were numbered. So I sat there in the
gathering gloom, holding his hand, and at intervals wiping the
perspiration from his forehead.

He spoke again, but now his mind wandered, and his thoughts drifted
back to the happy days of our youth. He recalled past events, smiling
or frowning as they pleased or angered him in the days gone by. Then
for a time he lay still, but suddenly, as if coming to his senses, he
looked up straight into my face.

"Good-bye," he murmured. "Tell Marie. The open space--the guns and
the hoof-beats. Strange, strange!"

And that was the end of it! Raoul was dead! How I mourned for him
none can ever know: it is not seemly to lay bare the inmost secrets of
our hearts to the gaze of curious eyes.

Raoul was dead, and on the very threshold of life.

We took him to St. Denis with many another gallant cavalier who had
ridden out joyously to the fight with the cry of "For the King!" on his
lips. The monks buried him in a plot of consecrated ground without the
monastery walls, and Turenne, who recognised his worth, attended the
funeral. Stalwart John Humphreys, who had been chosen to guard the
young King, was there also. He had loved the dead man dearly, and
though he could say nothing to lessen my bitter grief, yet somehow his
presence comforted me.

The next day I despatched Pillot with the star and a letter to Aunay,
paid a farewell visit to Raoul's grave, and before the sun had gained
his full power was riding sword in hand at Turenne's side. For in
warfare action alone must be the solace for one's private griefs.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Mazarin Triumphant.

Of my life during the next few months there is little to tell, beyond
the ordinary per