"My Lord,—Come! the queen is in danger of death, if a friend does not persuade her to flee, and I believe you are the only one who can have that influence over her."
"May I ask whom you are writing to, without being too curious?" demanded the lady.
"To the Count of Charny, madame," was Gilbert's reply.
"And why do you apply to him?"
"For him to obtain from your majesty what I fail to do."
"Count Charny is too happy to think of his unfortunate friends; he will not come," said the queen.
The door opened, and an usher appeared.
"The Right Honorable, the Count of Charny," he announced, "desiring to learn if he may present his respects to your majesty."
The queen had been pale, and now became corpse-like, as she stammered some unintelligible words.
"Let him enter," said Gilbert; "Heaven hath sent him."