“Admit her straight,” replied Pole. “She is ever welcome.”
And the next moment Constance came in. The expression of her countenance, which was as pale as death, struck Priuli, but did not appear to attract Pole’s attention. Moving noiselessly towards the Cardinal, Constance knelt before him, while he spread his thin white hands over her head, and in feeble tones gave her his benediction.
“How fares the Queen?” inquired Pole, as Constance arose. “She was somewhat easier this morning, as I understand.”
“Her Majesty is easier now,” replied Constance. “She is free from all pain.”
“Is she gone?” inquired Pole, while a premonitory shiver shook his wasted frame.
“She is gone,” rejoined Constance. “The heart that has so long suffered has ceased to beat.”
“May the angels of Heaven receive her soul and present it before the Lord!” exclaimed Pole. “And may whatever sin she has committed in life through human frailty be forgiven her! Did her spirit pass away easily?”
“Most easily,” replied Constance. “Her sole concern was for the welfare of her Church.”
“The chief pillar of the Church is broken,” cried Pole, in a voice of anguish; “and my hand, which might have helped to support the falling structure, is also powerless. Domine, salva nos, perimus! Salvator Mundi, salva Ecclesiam tuam.”
For some moments he remained in fervent prayer, after which he seemed calmer, and inquired if the Queen had said aught concerning the King her husband.