Edward closed his eyes for a moment before he could make up his mind to let them rest on the figure which he knew he would see lying beneath the crimson canopy. He asked himself what could have been the cause of his, Edward Povey's, presence in the death chamber of the king of San Pietro. Then he opened his eyes and looked.
Enrico was lying stiff in the centre of the bed, the sharp points of his knees and feet showing rigidly through the white sheet which covered his body. The thin hands were folded peacefully upon the breast, and between the stiffening fingers had been thrust a crucifix of ebony, bearing a silver image of the Christ. Below the hands, too, Edward noticed that some one had placed a single bloom, a rose. The little flower stood out eloquently among the sombre pageantry of death, "all the purer for its oneness," and he wondered idly whether it spoke of at least one who had truly sorrowed at the passing of the king, at one real regret.
On the bed, at the feet of the dead monarch, were two cushions on which were pinned the several orders and medals which had belonged to Enrico; his sword, too, lay between them, together with his plumed hat and his field-marshal's staff.
On either side of the bed there knelt a Sister of Mercy, and it was the monotone of their prayers that Edward had heard when he first awoke. In an alcove by the great carved fire-place a thin spiral of scented smoke rose from a censer. Four tall candles in silver holders made the space round the body an oasis of light, and in the cavern of shadow beyond loomed the strange shapes of massive furniture, and the dull gleam of mirrors. The heavy curtains had been drawn across the windows, and there was no sound but the murmur of the women at prayer and the occasional fall of a cinder on the stone flags of the hearth.
The scene was eerie in the extreme, and Edward gazed in fascinated interest at the rigid figure on the bed. Enrico had been a handsome man in life, and with the passing of his evil soul his earthly dignity of aspect had increased. The head was lying well back and showed the noble sweep of the brow and the clean-cut profile of the high-bridged nose. A full beard, raven black and threaded here and there with grey, rested spread out like a pall upon his breast and reached to the clasped hands. Upon the sunken wax-like cheeks the firelight flickered and played ghastly shadow tricks in the hollows of the deep-set eyes.
One of the nuns rose silently from her knees to attend to a candle at the head of the bed which had been guttering in a little draught that had found its way into the still room. As the woman turned to resume her prayers she saw that Edward, upon his pile of rugs in the corner, was awake, and she came with noiseless steps over to him. She laid a cool hand upon his brow and spoke to him in a whisper.
"You are not to talk, señor; I have orders to fetch the Queen to you when you awoke."
"The Queen!—you call her that already! But she will be asleep, she——" He ceased speaking as the white hand was pressed over his lips, and he watched the sister as she glided noiselessly to a door that was concealed behind a curtain near him.
In a few moments she had returned, and behind her, Edward saw Galva, and a smile lit up his rather tired-looking eyes as she crept and knelt down by the side of the made-up couch.
Very adorable looked the young Queen of San Pietro as she bent her lovely head over Edward Povey. Her hair, parted in the centre, fell over her shoulders in two long plaits, showing their dark richness against the steel blue of the wrapper the girl had put on. Her face was a little pale and there were dusky rings showing under the eyes—eyes which still held a suspicion of tears.