uch during the interview that the Queen could
not believe her to be in a dying state; but she continued very ill,
the low fever still hanging about her, and the faintness continual. The
close room, the turmoil of its many inhabitants, and the impossibility
of quiet also harassed her greatly, and Elisabeth had little or no power
of making any other arrangements for her in the palace. Ladies when ill
were taken home, and this poor child had no home. The other maids of
honour were a gentler, simpler set than Catherine's squadron, and were
far from unkind; but between them and her, who had so lately been the
brightest child of them all, there now lay that great gulf. _'Ich habe
gelebt und geliebet.'_ That the little blackbird, as they used to call
her, should have been on the verge of running away with her own husband
was a half understood, amusing mystery discussed in exaggerating
prattle. This was hushed, indeed, in the presence of that crushed,
prostrate, silent sorrow; but there was still an utter incapacity of
true sympathy, that made the very presence of so many oppressive,
even when they were not in murmurs discussing the ghastly tidings of
massacres in other cities, and the fate of acquaintances.

On that same day, the Queen sent for Diane to consult her about the
sufferer. Elisabeth longed to place her in her own cabinet and attend on
her herself; but she was afraid to do this, as the unhappy King was
in such a frenzied mood, and so constantly excited by his brother and
Guise, that it was possible that some half-delirious complaint from poor
Eustacie might lead to serious consequences. Indeed, Elisabeth, though
in no state to bear agitation, was absorbed in her endeavour to prevent
him from adding blood to blood, and a few days later actually saved the
lives of the King of Navarre and Prince of Conde, by throwing herself
before him half-dressed, and tearing his weapon from his hand. Her only
hope was that if she should give him a son, her influence for mercy
would revive with his joy. Meantime she was powerless, and she could
only devise the sending the poor little sufferer to a convent, where the
nuns might tend her till she was restored to health and composure. Diane
acquiesced, but proposed sending for her father, and he was accordingly
summoned. Diane saw him first alone, and both agreed that he had better
take Eustacie to Bellaise, where her aunt would take good care of her,
and in a few months she would no dou