court
in case the Princess should wish to see him before he went; but Lilias
found poor Margaret far too ill for this to be of any avail. She had
tossed about all night, and now was lying partly raised on a pile of
embroidered, gold-edged pillows, under an enormous, stiff, heavy quilt,
gorgeous with heraldic colours and devices, her pale cheeks flushed with
fever, her breath catching painfully, and with a terrible short cough,
murmuring strange words about her sisters, and about cruel tongues. A
crowd of both sexes and all ranks filled the room, gazing and listening.

She knew her cousin at her entrance, clasped her hand tight, and seemed
to welcome her native tongue, and understand her assurance that Sir
Patrick was gone to seek her sisters; but she wandered off into, 'Don't
let him ask Jamet. Ah, Katie Douglas, keep the door! They are coming.'

Her husband, returning from the morning mass, had way made for him as he
advanced to the bed, and again her understanding partly returned, as he
said in his low, dry voice, 'How now, Madame?'

She looked up at him, held out her hot hand, and gasped, 'Oh, sir, sir,
where are they?'

'Be more explicit, ma mie,' he said, with an inscrutable face.

'You know, you know. Oh, husband, my Lord, you do not believe it. Say
you do not believe it. Send the whispering fiend away. He has hidden my
sisters.'

'She raves,' said Louis. 'Has the chirurgeon been with her?'

'He is even now about to bleed her, my Lord,' said Madame de Craylierre,
'and so I have sent for the King's own physician.'

Louis's barber-surgeon (not yet Olivier le Dain) was a little, crooked
old Jew, at sight of whom Margaret screamed as if she took him for the
whispering fiend. He would fain have cleared the room and relieved the
air, but this was quite beyond his power; the ladies, knights, pages and
all chose to remain and look on at the struggles of the poor patient,
while Madame de Craylierre and Lady Drummond held her fast and forced
her to submit. Her husband, who alone could have prevailed, did not or
would not speak the word, but shrugged his shoulders and left the room,
carrying off with him at least his own attendants.

When she saw her blood flow, Margaret exclaimed, 'Ah, traitors, take me
instead of my father--only--a priest.'

Presently she fainted, and after partly reviving, seemed to doze, and
this, being less interesting, caused many of the spectators to depart.

When she awoke she was quite h