y faith, he looks scarcely able to walk! Come in, sir, and rest a
while in my chamber while Maitre Ambroise goes on to announce you to the
King. He is more at ease to-day, the poor child, and will relish some
fresh talk.

Berenger knew this to be Philippe, the old Huguenot nurse, whom Charles
IX. loved most fondly, and in whom he found his greatest comfort. He was
very glad to sink into the seat she placed for him, the only one is her
small, bare room and recover breath there while Pare passed on to the
King, and she talked as one delighted to have a hearer.

'Ah, yes, rest yourself--stay; I will give you a few spoonfuls of the
cordial potage I have here for the King; it will comfort your heart. Ah!
you have been cruelly mauled--but he would have saved you if he could.

'Yes, good mother, I know that; the King has been my very good lord.

'Ah! blessings on you if you say so from your heart, Monsieur; you know
me for one of your poor Reformed. And I tell you--I who saw him born,
who nursed him from his birth--that, suffer as you may, you can never
suffer as he does. Maitre Ambroise may talk of his illness coming from
blowing too much on his horn; I know better. But, ah! to be here at
night would make a stone shed tears of blood. The Queen and I know it;
but we say nothing, we only pray.

The sight of a Huguenot was so great a treat to the old woman in her
isolated life, that her tongue ran thus freely while Berenger sat,
scarce daring to speak or breathe in the strange boding atmosphere of
the palace, where the nurse and surgeon moved as tolerated, privileged
persons, in virtue of the necessity of the one to the King--of the other
to all the world. After all brief interval Pare returned and beckoned
to Berenger, who followed him across a large state-bedroom to a much
smaller one, which he entered from under a heavy blue velvet curtain,
and found himself in an atmosphere heavy with warmth and perfume, and
strangely oppressed besides. On one side of the large fire sat the
young Queen, faded, wan, and with all animation or energy departed, only
gazing with a silent, wistful intentness at her husband. He was opposite
to her in a pillowed chair, his feet on a stool, with a deadly white,
padded, puffy cheek, and his great black eyes, always prominent, now
with a glassy look, and strained wide, as though always gazing after
some horrible sight. 'Madame la Comtesse stood in her old, wooden,
automaton fashion behind the Queen