Pondering what lie I could tell him, and how, an irresistible impulse seized me. I bent over him and said:
“Dear sir, the King has summoned the Duchess.”
Does the mind regain power as the body fails? My great-grandfather turned his head, and, as his blue eyes met mine, I could not persuade myself that he was deceived.
“The will of his Majesty be done,” he said faintly but firmly.
The next few moments seemed like years. Had I done wrong? Had it done him harm? Above all, what did he mean? Were his words part of one last graceful dream of the dynasty of the white lilies, or was his loyal submission made now to a Majesty not of France, not even of this world? It was an intense relief to me when he spoke again.
“Marguerite!”
I knelt by the bedside, and he laid his hand upon my head. An exquisite smile shone on his face.
“Good child; pauvre petite! His Majesty will call me also, before long. Is it not so? And then thou shalt rest.”
His fine face clouded again with a wandering, troubled look, and his fingers fumbled the bed-clothes. I saw that he had lost his crucifix in moving his hand to my head. I gave it him, and he clasped his hands over it once more, and carrying it to his lips with a smile, closed his eyes like some good child going to sleep.
And Thou, O King of kings, didst summon him, as the dark faded into dawn!