"No, sire," said Monsieur de Nancey; "either he was not in the forest or he escaped."
"So much the worse," said the King; "but let us return. I am cold and dizzy."
"Sire, it is from anger, probably," said François.
"Possibly; but my eyes trouble me. Where are the prisoners? I cannot see them. Is it night already? Oh! mercy! I am burning up! Help! Help!"
The unfortunate King dropped the bridle of his horse, stretched out his arms, and fell backward. The courtiers, frightened at this second attack, caught him as he fell.
François, standing apart, wiped the perspiration from his brow, for he alone knew the cause of the trouble from which his brother was suffering.
On the other side the King of Navarre, already under the guard of Monsieur de Nancey, looked upon the scene with growing astonishment.
"Well! well!" murmured he, with that wonderful intuition which at times made him seem inspired, "was I perhaps fortunate in having been stopped in my flight?"
He glanced at Margot, whose great eyes, wide open with surprise, were looking first at him and then at the King.
This time Charles was unconscious. A litter was brought and he was laid on it. They covered him with a cloak, taken from the shoulders of one of the courtiers. The procession silently set out in the direction of Paris, whence that morning light-hearted conspirators and a happy King had started forth, and to which now a dying King was returning, surrounded by rebel prisoners.