Nevertheless, I did so with all effort; and, sending for the courier asked him with an assumption of carelessness what was the latest news at Court. His answer, in a measure, calmed my fears, though it could not remove them. He reported that the queen had been taken ill or so the rumour went.
"Suddenly?" I said.
"This morning," he answered.
"The King was with her?"
"Yes, your excellency."
"Had he left her long when he sent this letter?"
"It came from her chamber, your excellency."
"But—did you understand that her Majesty was in danger?" I urged.
As to that, however, the man could not say anything; and I was left to nurse my conjectures during the long ride to Fontainebleau, where we arrived in the cool of the evening, the last stage through the forest awakening memories of past pleasure that combated in vain the disorder and apprehension which held my spirits. Dismounting in the dusk at the door of my apartments, I found a fresh surprise awaiting me in the shape of M. de Concini, the Italian; who advancing to meet me before my foot was out of the stirrup, announced that he came from the King, who desired my instant attendance in the queen's closet.
Knowing Concini to be one of those whose influence with her Majesty had more than once tempted the King to the most violent measures against her—from which I had with difficulty dissuaded him—I augured the worst from the choice of such a messenger; and wounded alike in my pride and the affection in which I held the King, could scarcely find words in which to ask him if the queen was ill.