"Will no one give me a glass of water?" said Beatrice, moving towards the house.
"It shall be brought in a moment, lady," replied the officer, following. "Where are this lady's attendants?"
"Well, St. Real," said the king, turning to the young cavalier as he issued forth again from the house just as Beatrice entered. "Pardie, we are too late in one sense, after all, though not too late to prevent the mischief these fellows meditated. Ventre Saint Gris! but this cousin of yours was an ungenerous villain; and I am sorry for that poor girl, who, to my thinking, has driven the dagger deeper into her own heart than into his. Well, there he lies, and one of the conspirators against our fair heiress of Menancourt is disposed of; now to despatch the other. Martin, bring forward the prisoner."
"Sir Albert of Wolfstrom," continued the king, "it seems to me that your name was once enrolled amongst the troops of my late cousin, Henry III. and that you chose the chance of a halter and better pay on the part of the League. Traitors against myself, God help me, I am fain to forgive, leaving them to God and their consciences for punishment; but traitors to the late king I forgive not, and, therefore, I shall turn over your case to my good friend De Biron, who is not merciful, but just. Your own heart, therefore, will tell your fate: if it condemn you, be sure that ere to-morrow's noon you will be lying like him you stare at with such open eyes."
"Cannot I take service with my troop?" demanded Wolfstrom, with undaunted effrontery. "Your majesty suffered the Swiss at Ivry to come over to you."
"They were only enemies, not traitors," replied the king; "I can have traitors enow without paying them, sirrah!--What is that outcry within, St. Real? No more tragedies, I trust!--What I have said, Sir, is decided," continued Henry, again turning to Wolfstrom, while St. Real entered the house to ascertain the cause of the sounds of lamentation that they heard. "If your conscience tell you that you deserted the late king, bid good-by to the world! By my faith there must be something the matter there!" he added, as the tones of grief came again from within; and turning hastily, he himself entered the house, and advanced to a room from the open door of which the sound proceeded. The sight that presented itself needed little explanation. In a large chair, near the centre of the room, sat Beatrice of Ferrara, with her head supported upon the breast of her faithful old servant Joachim, while kneeling at her feet, and weeping bitterly as she clasped her friend's knees, was the beautiful form of Eugenie de Menancourt. Around were a number of female attendants, filling the air with lamentations; and on one side stood St. Real, gazing eagerly in the face of the fair Italian. But that lovely face had now lost the loveliness of life, the bright dark eyes were closed, the colour of the warm rose no longer blushed through the clear white skin, the lips themselves were pale, and the dazzling teeth showed like a row of pearls, as the mouth hung partly open. Her right hand was still clasped upon a glass from which she had been drinking; and rolled away upon the floor was a rich carved bon-bonnière, from which a small quantity of white powder had been spilt as it fell. Throughout the whole room there was a faint odour, as if of bitter almonds; and Henry, who well remembered that same perfume, when some of the noblest in France had died somewhat suddenly, exclaimed at once as he entered, "She has poisoned herself!"
"Too true, I fear, my lord!" replied St. Real; "but a leech has been sent for."
"In vain! in vain!" said the king. "She is dead already, St. Real! That is no fainting fit; and even were she not dead already, no skill on earth could save her from the tomb. I know that hateful drug too well. Come away, St. Real! Mademoiselle de Menancourt, come away! Nay, I command! You do no good here!"
Thus saying, Henry took the fair girl's hand and led her to another room, where, after speaking a few words of comfort, he added, "But I must to horse again and forward towards Le Mans. You, St. Real, I shall leave behind with your regiment, for the protection of this one fair lady, though those that persecuted her are no more. His body shall be carried to his own dwelling, and lie beside his father's. That I will see to. And now, though this is a solemn moment, and the scene a sad one, yet Mademoiselle de Menancourt, I must put it out of fortune's power to persecute you farther, for the treasure of this fair hand. Nay, nay, I must have my will!--Take it, St. Real," he added, placing it in his. "If I judge right, you value it highly; and, as you well deserve it, I give it to you now, lest any of my many friends should crave me for the gift hereafter. I would rather say to those who ask it that it is given, than that I will not give it. To your love and sorrow, lady, I leave the last rites of yon beautiful and hapless girl. Hers was a hard fate, and a noble mind; for, cast by fortune into the midst of corruption, with a heart all warmth and a fancy all brightness, she came out still, pure as gold refined in the fire, which, Heaven forgive us, is what few of us can say for himself. Amidst all the falsehoods and follies of the late court, never did I know the breath of scandal sully her fair name! She was, indeed, one in a thousand! Conceal the manner of her death, if possible; and let such honours as the church permits convey her to her last long home! Now, farewell!"