Edward shivered.
“You are not sorely sick?” he demanded hoarsely.
His son put out a hot hand, which the Prince clasped tightly.
“I feel so tired,” he whispered, still with his eyes closed; “but when I sleep the dragons come and crawl over the bed—”
Jehanne had crept round to the other side of the pillow.
“Let him sleep, Edward,” she whispered anxiously.
“He can sleep while I hold his hand,” answered the Prince, never lifting his eyes from his son’s face.
“Nay, but you should rest,” she insisted. “Have you not come a long journey, and are you not sick?”
“I rested at Lormont,” answered Edward.
The Princess lifted her red kirtle from her feet and crossed to the doctor, who stood between the two women on the hearth, and whispered to him, her pretty face quivering with agitation.