n, omitted
the one wise thing of letting in the physicians. Abbot Milo at last,
coming in, saved Jehane from him for the deeper purposes of God.

The Count of Saint-Pol, going to the Castle, to the Queen's side, found
the Marquess with her. She also lay white and twisting on a couch,
crisping and uncrisping her little hands. Montferrat stood at her head;
three of her ladies knelt about her, whispering in her own tongue,
proffering orange water, sweetmeats, a feather whisk. Saint-Pol knelt in
her view.

'Madame, how is it with your Grace?' he said. The little lady quivered,
but took no notice.

'Madame,' said Saint-Pol again, 'I am a peer of France, but a knight
before all. I am come to serve your Grace with my manhood. I pray you
speak to me.' The Marquess folded his arms; his large white face was a
sight to see.

Queen Berengere's palms were bleeding a little where her nails had
broken the skin. She was quite white; but her eyes, burning black, had
no pupils. When Saint-Pol spoke for the second time she shook beyond all
control and threw her head about. Also she spoke.

'I suffer, I suffer horribly. It is cruel beyond understanding or
knowledge that a girl should suffer as I suffer. Where is God? Where is
Mary? Where are the angels?'

'Dearest Madame, dearest Madame,' said the cooing women, and one stroked
her face. But the Queen shook the hand off, and went wailing on, saying
more than she could have meant.

'Is it good usage of the daughter of a king, Lord Jesus? Is this the way
of marriage, that the bride be left on her wedding day?' She jumped up
on her couch and took hold of her bosom in the sight of men. 'She hath
given him a child! He is with her now. Am I not fit for children? Shall
there never be milk? Oh, oh, here is more shame than I can bear!' She
hid her face in her hands, and rocked herself about.

Montferrat (really moved) said low to Saint-Pol: 'Are we knights to
suffer these wrongs to be?' Said Saint-Pol with a sob in his voice, 'Ah,
God, mend it!'

'He will,' said Montferrat, 'if we help to mend.'

This reminded Saint-Pol of his own words to De Gurdun; so he made haste
to throw himself before the Queen, that he might still be pure in his
devotion. 'My lady Berengere,' he said ardently, 'take me for your
soldier. I am a bad man, but surely not so bad as this. Let me fight him
for you.'

The Queen shook her head, impatient. 'Hey! What can you do against so
glorious a man? He is the greate