e hotel, and a
hush went along with him, for all knew that he would never have left his
King alive, Catherine's composure gave way. She had not imagination
enough for apprehension of what was out of sight; but when she knew that
she had lost her king, to whom she had owed the brief splendour of an
otherwise dreary and neglected life, she fell into a passion of cries and
tears, even at the mere sight of Sir Lewis, and continued to bewail her
king, her lord, her husband, her light, her love, with the violence of an
utterly unexpected bereavement.

But while her shrieks and sobs were rending the air, a hoarse voice
gasped out, 'What say you? My son Henri dead!' and white and ghastly,
the gray hair hanging wildly from the temples, the eyes roaming with the
wistful gaze of the half insane, poor King Charles stood among them,
demanding, 'Tell me I am sick again! Tell me it is but one of my
delusions! So brave, so strong, so lively, so good to the poor old man!
My son Henri cannot die! That is for the old, the sick!'

And when Sir Lewis with gentle words had made him understand the truth,
he covered his face with his hands, and staggered away, led by his
attendant knight, still murmuring in a dazed way, '_Mon fils Henri, mon
bon fils Henri_--most loving of all my children!'

In truth, neither of his own sons had been thus mourned; nor had any
person shown the poor crazed monarch the uniform deferential
consideration he had received from Henry. He crept back to his own
chamber, and for many days hardly spoke, save to moan for his _bon fils
Henri_, scarcely tasting food, and pining away day by day. Those who had
watched the likeness between the heroes of Monmouth and of Macedon, saw
the resemblance carried out; for as the aged Persian queen perished away
from grief for the courteous and gentle Alexander, so now the king of the
conquered realm was actually wasting to death with mourning for his frank
and kindly _bon fils Henri_.

As part of royal etiquette, Catherine betook herself to her bed, in a
chamber hung with black, the light of day excluded, and ranks of wax
tapers shedding a lugubrious light upon rows of gentlemen and ladies who
had to stand there on duty, watching her as the mourners watched the
King, though her lying-in-state was not always as silent; for though,
there was much time spent in slumber, Catherine sometimes would indulge
in a good deal of subdued prattle with her mother, or her more
confidential