"I trust he will, my lord," replied the minister. "May I tell the queen you grant her request?" he added, eager to urge Philip's indecision into the irrevocable.
"Yes!" said the monarch, "yes!--Yet stay, Guerin,--stay!" and he fell into thought again; when suddenly some one, mounting the steps like lightning, approached the little vestibule where they stood. "Ha! have you taken the count D'Auvergne?" cried the king, seeing one of his serjeants-of-arms--his eyes flashing at the same time with all their former fury.
"No, my lord," replied the man: "he has not yet been heard of; but a messenger, in breathless haste, from the bishop of Tours, brings you this packet, sire. He says, prince Arthur is taken," added the serjeant.
"Avert it, Heaven!" exclaimed Philip, tearing open the despatch. "Too true! too true!" he added: "and the people of Poitou in revolt! laying the misfortune to our door, for resisting the interdict. Oh, Guerin! it must be done--it must be done! The interdict must be raised, or all is lost.--Begone, fellow! leave us!" he exclaimed, turning to the serjeant, who tarried for no second command. Then, pacing up and down for an instant, with his eyes bent on the ground, the king repeated more than once:--"She seeks to leave me! she spoke of it as calmly as a hermit tells his beads. She loves me not!--Too true, she loves me not!"
"May I announce your will in this respect, my lord? demanded Guerin, as the king paused and pondered bitterly over all that had passed.
"Ask me not, good friend!--ask me not!" replied the king, turning away his head, as if to avoid facing the act to which his minister urged him, "Ask me not. Do what thou wilt; there is my signet,--use it wisely; but tear not my heart, by asking commands I cannot utter."
Thus speaking, the king drew his private seal from his finger, and placing it in Guerin's hand, turned away; and, with a quick but irregular step, descended the staircase, passed through the gardens, and issuing out by the postern gate, plunged into the very heart of the forest.
Guerin paused to collect his thoughts, scarcely believing the victory that had been obtained; so little had he expected it in the morning. He then approached the door of the queen's apartments, and knocked gently for admittance. At first it passed unnoticed, but on repeating it somewhat louder, one of Agnes's women presented herself, with a face of ashy paleness, while another looked over her shoulder.
"Enter, my lord bishop, enter!" said the second in a low voice. "Thank God, you are come! We know not what has so struck the queen; but she is very ill. She speaks not; she raises not her head; and yet by her sobbing 'tis clear she has not fainted. See where she lies!"
Guerin entered. From Philip's account, he had thought to find the queen with a mind composed and made up to her fortunes; but a sadly different scene presented itself. Agnes had apparently, the moment her husband had left her, caught down the crucifix from a little moveable oratory which stood in the room, and throwing herself on her knees before one of the seats, had been seeking consolation in prayer. The emotions which crossed her address to Heaven may easily be conceived; and so powerfully had they worked, that, overcoming all other thoughts, they seemed to have swept hope and trust, even in the Almighty, away before them, and dashed the unhappy girl to the ground like a stricken flower. Her head and whole person had fallen forward on the cushion of the seat, before which she had been kneeling. Her face was resting partly on her hands, and partly on the cross, which they clasped, and which was deluged with her tears; while a succession of short convulsive sobs was all that announced her to be amongst the living.