'I, the grand-daughter of Ferdinand of Aragon, at the feet of this abortion!—this idiot!'
She rose, and a flush mounted on her pale cheek.
The king felt it incumbent on him to say something, to end somehow this embarrassing silence. He made a great effort, shrugged his shoulders, blinked, but could get no further than his usual—
'Eh? eh? What?' Then he waved his hand in despair, and relapsed into dumbness. Isabella measured him with her eyes in undissembled scorn, and Charles was abashed and hung his head.
'Brissonet! Brissonet! Let us go! Eh? What?'
The pages threw open the doors, and his progress continued till he had reached the room where Gian Galeazzo lay dying. Here the shutters had been thrown back, and the calm light of the autumn evening fell across the gilded tree-tops and streamed in through the windows.
The king approached the sufferer, and inquired solicitously after his health, calling him 'cousin,' 'mon cousin.' Gian Galeazzo answered with such a gentle smile that the poor king was relieved, and gradually recovered from his confusion.
'May the Lord send victory to the hosts of your Highness,' said the duke. 'And when you shall be at Jerusalem, at the Holy Sepulchre of Christ, oh, then, pray for the health of my poor soul; for by that time, sire, I——'
'Oh, no! no, brother! Speak not thus,' protested Charles, 'you shall recover. We must march together against these unclean Turks. Eh? Believe my words. I give you my word—Eh? what?'
Gian Galeazzo shook his head.