"Alas!" she said, with a look of distress, "other influences are at work which mine cannot resist. I knew not all—but now I tremble."
Jocelyne still entreated, in all the agony of despair; and the young Princess, again calling to her ladies, and learning that the Queen-mother had returned to her own apartment, at last departed from her chamber, bidding her fair suppliant await her return.
Long, eternally long, appeared those minutes, as the unhappy girl still waited for that return which she imagined was to bring her the news of life or death. To calm the agitation of her mind, she prayed. But her thoughts were far too disturbed for prayer; and the prayer brought her no comfort.
At length the Queen of Navarre came back to her apartment—as Jocelyne looked in her face, she could scarcely repress a scream; that face was one of sorrow, and disappointment—the poor girl trembled in every limb, and did not dare to speak.
"I have done all I could," said Margaret—"His door was obstinately closed to me—I could not see him—it was she—it was my mother, who has done this. I know it well."
"What is to be done? whether turn for help?" cried Jocelyne in dispair. "Oh! would that I could lay down my life to save his."
"Noble girl!" exclaimed the princess. "Thus devoted, whilst he loves another! How far more generous than was I; ay, I believe thee—couldst thou lay down thy life for him, thou wouldst do it."
"And is there no hope of seeking pardon at his hands?" resumed the afflicted girl.
"In time, perhaps—at another opportunity," replied Margaret; "but now my mother's influence triumphs."
"Another opportunity!" sobbed Jocelyne. "In time! Alas! such words are words of mockery—the king is dying—at his death the Queen-mother will command; and what have we then to hope?"