"Do not agitate yourself, sir," said Marguerite, "your blood is still flowing. Oh, look, Gillonne, how pale he is—let us see where you are wounded."
"Madame," said La Mole, trying to fix on certain parts of his body the pain which pervaded his whole frame, "I think I have a dagger-thrust in my shoulder, another in my chest,—the other wounds are not worth bothering about."
"We will see," said Marguerite. "Gillonne, bring me my balsam casket."
Gillonne obeyed, and returned holding in one hand a casket, and in the other a silver-gilt ewer and some fine Holland linen.
"Help me to lift him, Gillonne," said Queen Marguerite; "for in attempting to get up the poor gentleman has lost all his strength."
"But, madame," said La Mole, "I am wholly confused. Indeed, I cannot allow"—
"But, sir, you will let us do for you, I think," said Marguerite. "When we may save you, it would be a crime to let you die."
"Oh!" cried La Mole, "I would rather die than see you, the queen, stain your hands with blood as unworthy as mine. Oh, never, never!"
And he drew back respectfully.
"Your blood, sir," replied Gillonne, with a smile, "has already stained her majesty's bed and chamber."