"What has that to do with me?" asked Le Glorieux wearily. "He is not a near relative of mine."
"I forgot that you were ignorant of the fact that his Highness is very, very ill."
"Ill? His Highness ill?"
"Yes, he also has the fever, the same that you have, but the leeches are confident that they can cure him."
The fever had now spent itself, and Le Glorieux, being naturally of a strong constitution, made rapid progress toward recovery. Marguerite came no more, for every moment was spent beside the couch of the prince, who was making a brave fight for his life.
But one morning the bells began to toll, and it seemed as if a pall had settled over the land, for the Prince of the Asturias, the hope of Spain, was no more! The heir to the throne of a great kingdom had bowed his young head meekly to the divine will, and gladly had exchanged the splendors of earth for the joys of Heaven. History says, "All the nations mourned, and the court, instead of being hung with white serge, was draped in sackcloth.... Brutus, a beautiful hound belonging to the prince, could not be induced to leave his body, but went to his tomb and died there."
It was a pale and sorrowful queen whom Le Glorieux beheld when next he went to court. The fairy-like columns and sparkling fountains of her palaces were no longer a delight to Queen Isabella; for her the roses in the Alhambra gardens had lost their fragrance, and she thought with indifference of her new possessions across the sea, for she had lost the dearest treasure of all, and the great queen had become the sorrowing mother.