lace. What was it? was it fire? No. Another and another wail of agony.
What could it be? The approach of an enemy? No. It was merely tidings of
the massacre of Minieh!

Margaret of Provence summoned to her presence Oliver de Thermes, whom
King Louis had left at Damietta in command of the garrison.

'Sir knight,' said the queen, 'what is all that noise I hear?'

The warrior hesitated.

'Speak, sir,' said Margaret, losing patience; 'I command you to tell me
what has happened.'

'Madam,' replied the knight, 'the news as yet is but vague and
uncertain.'

'Answer me, directly,' said the queen, speaking in a tone of authority.
'What of the King of France? What of the warriors who marched from
Damietta under the banner of St. Denis?'

'Alas, madam,' replied Sir Oliver, 'I would fain hope that the news is
not true; but it certainly is bruited about that the king is a captive,
and that the warriors of the Cross have fallen almost to a man.'

Margaret did not answer; she did not even attempt to speak. Her colour
went, she shuddered, tottered, and would have fallen to the floor had
not her ladies rushed to her support. It was indeed a terrible situation
for that youthful matron, and--what made matters more melancholy--she
was about to become a mother.

And now Damietta was the scene of consternation somewhat similar to that
which pervaded Cairo, when a pigeon carried thither intelligence of the
victory of the Count of Artois at Djedile. The ladies of the Crusaders,
the Countesses of Poictiers and Provence, and the widowed Countess of
Artois, among the number, bewailed the fate of their lords; the queen
was afflicted to a terrible degree as she thought of the king's peril;
and many people only felt concerned about their own extreme peril. Of
course much selfishness was exhibited under the circumstances; and the
Pisans and Genoese set a bad example by preparing to save themselves,
and leave the city to its fate. But, on hearing of their intention, the
queen ordered that the chief persons among them should be brought to her
presence, and addressed them in a way likely to convince them of the
selfishness of their conduct.

'Gentlemen,' said Margaret, rousing herself from her prostration and
raising her head; 'as you love God, do not leave this city; for if you
do you will utterly ruin the king and his army, who are captives, and
expose all within the walls to the vengeance of the Saracens.'

'Madam,' replied the Pisans an