Some wept to see her cruel sufferings. Monsieur sat by her side and held her hand.
There was a commotion in the ante-chamber–in the bedroom; the door was flung open, and a gentleman in brown and gold, carrying his hat, entered, behind him M. de Crequi.
“The King,” said Monsieur.
Louis came half-way across the dressing-room.
“The doctors wish to see you, Monsieur,” he said; he was very pale and frowning.
All the light in the chamber was about the bed of Madame, where the candles burnt in their silver sticks and shone full on her pillow.
All beauty had been wiped from her face like paint from a mask. Against the blue of her robe and the glimmering hue of her hair her face was like gray wax; the blood had come through the bandages on her arm in a red stain–but he, to her vision was as godlike, as golden glorious as ever.
As he came up to her she controlled her pain with an heroic effort.
“Sire, you lose one of your truest servants to-night,” she said.
He answered in great agitation–