"Madame—for the love of Christ do as the King asks! He desires a priest. For the love of Christ, Madame!"
She was still silent for an instant, staring down on me. Then she tore her hand free, and I thought she would refuse me. But she caught me again by the shoulders.
"Stand up, sir; stand up. I—I will do whatever the King desires. But what can I do? God! there is someone coming!"
There came very plainly, through the antechambers I had just run through, the tramp of feet. I stood, as in a paralysis, not knowing what to do next. Then she seized on me again as the steps came near.
"Stand back," she said, "stand back, sir. I must see—"
There came a knocking on the door as I sprang back away from the hearth, and stood out of the firelight. Then the door opened, as Her Grace made no answer, and the page whom I had seen just now stood bowing upon the threshold.
"Madame," said he. "M. Barillon, the French ambassador—"
She made a swift gesture, and he fell back. There was a pause; and then, through the door came M. Barillon, very upright and lean, walking quickly, all alone. He stopped short when he saw Her Grace, put his heels together and bowed very low.
She was at him in an instant.
"Monsieur!" she cried. "Yon are come in the very nick of time. How is
His Majesty?"