Die in terror of thy guiltiness,

Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death,

Fainting, despair, despairing yield thy breath

KING RICHARD III.

A few days later, when Berenger had sent out Philip, under the

keeping of the secretaries, to see the Queen-mother represent

Royalty in one of the grand processions of Rogation-tide, the

gentle knock came to his door that always announced the arrival of

his good surgeon.

'You look stronger, M. le Baron; have you yet left your room?'

'I have walked round the gallery above the hall,' said Berenger.

'I have not gone down-stairs; that is for to-morrow.'

'What would M. le Baron say if his chirurgeon took him not merely

down-stairs, but up on flight at the Louvre?'

'Ha!' cried Berenger; 'to the King?'

'It is well-nigh the last chance, Monsieur; the Queen-mother and

all her suite are occupied with services and sermons this week; and

next week private access to the King will be far more difficult. I

have waited as long as I could that you might gain strength to

support the fatigue.'

'Hope cancels fatigue,' said Berenger, already at the other end of

the room searching for his long-disused cloak, sword, gloves, hat,

and mask.

'Not the sword,' said Pare, 'so please you. M. le Baron must

condescend to obtain entrance as my assistant--the plain black

doublet--yes, that is admirable; but I did not know that Monsieur

was so tall,' he added, in some consternation, as, for the first

time, he saw his patient standing up at his full height--unusual

even in England, and more so in France. Indeed, Berenger had grown

during his year of illness, and being, of course, extremely thin,

looked all the taller, so as to be a very inconvenient subject to

smuggle into to palace unobserved.

However, Ambroise had made up his mind to the risk, and merely

assisted Berenger in assuming his few equipments, then gave him his

arm to go down the stairs. Meeting Guibert on the way, Berenger

left word with him that he was going out to take the air with

Maitre Pare; and on the man's offering to attend him, refused the

proposal.

Pare carriage waited in the court, and Berenger, seated in its

depths, rolled unseen through the streets, till he found himself at

the little postern of the Louvre, the very door whence he was to

have led off his poor Eustacie. Here Ambroise made him take off

his small black mask, in spite of all danger of his scars being

remarked, since masks were not etiquette in the palace, and,

putting into his arms a small brass-bound case of instruments,

asked his pardon for preceding him, and alighted from the carriage.

This was Ambroise's usual entrance, and it was merely guarded by a

Scottish archer, who probably observed nothing. They then mounted

the stone stair, the same where Osbert had dragged down his

insensible master; and as, at the summit, the window appeared where

Berenger had waited those weary hours, and heard the first notes of

the bell of St.-Germain-l'Auxerrois, his breath came in such

hurried sobs, that Pare would fain have given him time to recover

himself, but he gasped, 'Not here--not here;' and Pare, seeing that

he could still move on, turned, not to the corridor leading to the

King's old apartments, now too full of dreadful associations for

poor Charles, but towards those of the young Queen.




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