“Can this be the magnificent François de Valois?” he muttered to Bourbon. “Mother of Heaven! how he is changed!”
“Sadly changed, indeed, sire,” rejoined Bourbon. “Even I can pity him.”
On beholding the Emperor, François raised himself with his sister's support, and said, in accents of mingled bitterness and reproach, “Your majesty has come to see your prisoner die.”
“No, I have come to bid you live,” rejoined Charles V., hastening towards him, “You are no longer my prisoner, but my friend and brother. From this moment you are free.”
As these gracious words were uttered, François withdrew from his sister, and flung his arms round the Emperor's neck. On recovering from his emotion, he said, “I thank your majesty from the bottom of my heart for your goodness towards me. You have performed a magical cure. In giving me freedom you have instantly restored me to health and strength.”
“I am rejoiced to hear it, my good brother,” rejoined Charles Y. “I should never have forgiven myself if aught had befallen you, You shall be liberated this very day—that is, as soon as we have arranged the terms of the treaty,” he hastened to add, “That is a necessary preliminary step, as you know.”
“Of course, sire,” rejoined the king. “We can settle the treaty now. I am well enough to attend to it.”
And, assisted by the Emperor and Marguerite, he rose from the couch, and seated himself near the table, on which writing materials were placed.
“You have indeed recovered in a marvellous manner, my good brother,” remarked Charles V., smiling.
“It is all your doing, sire,” rejoined François. “But let us proceed to business. I repeat, I am quite equal to it.”