his title. For, be it noted, the appearance of the Pretender, Enrique de Trastamare, in the cathedral, and his determination to carry away the Lady Blanche was most unwelcome to the chapter, who were thus deprived of their sanctuary dues, the actually reigning sovereign alone having the privilege of recompensing them.
At length a leech arrives in the person of an aged Jew well-known in her city at the beginning and end of life. Quickly he opens a vein, and as, drop by drop, the blood flows over the delicate skin, her eyes open, and again she breathes.
No sooner has consciousness returned to the queen than it is Claire’s turn to give way. Tottering backwards she seems about to fall. But the brave girl, ever faithful to her charge, forces herself to overcome the passing weakness and tend her mistress, on whose pale cheeks a faint tinge of colour has stolen.
“Dear Blanche, hear me!” cries Claire, passionately seizing her hand and carrying the cold fingers to her lips. “On my knees I conjure you to live, for yourself, for me! For France, our pleasant land, where we shall return. Rouse yourself, Blanche. Sit up,” and she essays to raise her in her arms, while Enrique, with looks of the tenderest pity, assists her.