"Jesus!" said he. "They kill me! Help! help!"
Catharine, who had followed, saw him fall. For one instant she stood motionless, watching him. Then recollecting herself, not because of any maternal affection, but because of the awkwardness of the situation, she called out:
"The King is ill! Help! help!"
At the cry a crowd of servants, officers, and courtiers gathered around the young King. But ahead of them all a woman rushed out, pushed aside the others, and raised Charles, who had grown as pale as death.
"They kill me, nurse, they kill me," murmured the King, covered with perspiration and blood.
"They kill you, my Charles?" cried the good woman, glancing at the group of faces with a look which reached even Catharine. "Who kills you?"
Charles heaved a feeble sigh, and fainted.
"Ah!" said the physician, Ambroise Paré, who was summoned at once, "ah! the King is very ill!"
"Now, from necessity or compulsion," said the implacable Catharine to herself, "he will have to grant a delay."
Whereupon she left the King to join her second son, who was in the oratory, anxiously waiting to hear the result of an interview which was of such importance to him.