he had been rewarded for her good behaviour by one of the
dried plums in her father's comfit-box, the order had been written
by Pare, and Berenger had prepared the certificate for the King's
signature, according to the form given him by his grandfather.

'Your writing shakes nearly as much as mine,' said the poor King, as
he wrote his name to this latter. 'Now, Madame, you had better sign it
also; and tell this gentleman where to find Father Meinhard in Austria.
He was a little too true for us, do you see--would not give thanks for
shedding innocent blood. Ah!'--and with a gasp of mournful longing, the
King sank back, while Elisabeth, at his bidding, added her name to the
certificate, and murmured the name of a convent in Vienna, where her
late confessor could be found.

'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