er imagination presenting no image to her
mind but Bertram's.

Helena had long loved Bertram, yet she always remembered that he was the
Count of Rousillon, descended from the most ancient family in France.
She of humble birth. Her parents of no note at all. His ancestors all
noble. And therefore she looked up to the high-born Bertram as to her
master and to her dear lord, and dared not form any wish but to live his
servant, and so living to die his vassal. So great the distance seemed
to her between his height of dignity and her lowly fortunes, that she
would say, "It were all one that I should love a bright particular star,
and think to wed it, Bertram is so far above me."

Bertram's absence filled her eyes with tears and her heart with sorrow;
for though she loved without hope, yet it was a pretty comfort to her to
see him every hour, and Helena would sit and look upon his dark eye, his
arched brow, and the curls of his fine hair, till she seemed to draw his
portrait on the tablet of her heart, that heart too capable of retaining
the memory of every line in the features of that loved face.

Gerard de Narbon, when he died, left her no other portion than some
prescriptions of rare and well-proved virtue, which by deep study and
long experience in medicine he had collected as sovereign and almost
infallible remedies. Among the rest, there was one set down as an
approved medicine for the disease under which Lafeu said the king at
that time languished: and when Helena heard of the king's complaint,
she, who till now had been so humble and so hopeless, formed an
ambitious project in her mind to go herself to Paris, and undertake the
cure of the king. But though Helena was the possessor of this choice
prescription, it was unlikely, as the king as well as his physicians was
of opinion that his disease was incurable, that they would give credit
to a poor unlearned virgin, if she should offer to perform a cure. The
firm hopes that Helena had of succeeding, if she might be permitted to
make the trial, seemed more than even her father's skill warranted,
though he was the most famous physician of his time; for she felt a
strong faith that this good medicine was sanctified by all the luckiest
stars in heaven to be the legacy that should advance her fortune, even
to the high dignity of being Count Rousillon's wife.

Bertram had not been long gone, when the countess was informed by her
steward, that he had overheard Helena talking