dreadful apparition. For two hours she had incessantly under her eyes the
king's corpse asking vengeance, and the young prince her son praying God
to punish the murderers. At last she could endure it no longer, and,
crying out, she threw herself back, having completely lost consciousness,
and would have fallen, if someone had not caught hold of her. In the
evening she entered Edinburgh, always preceded by the cruel banner, and
she already had rather the air of a prisoner than of a queen; for, not
having had a moment during the day to attend to her toilet, her hair was
falling in disorder about her shoulders, her face was pale and showed
traces of tears; and finally, her clothes were covered with dust and mud.
As she proceeded through the town, the hootings of the people and the
curses of the crowd followed her. At last, half dead with fatigue, worn
out with grief, bowed down with shame, she reached the house of the Lord
Provost; but scarcely had she got there when the entire population of
Edinburgh crowded into the square, with cries that from time to time
assumed a tone of terrifying menace. Several times, then, Mary wished to
go to the window, hoping that the sight of her, of which she had so often
proved the influence, would disarm this multitude; but each time she saw
this banner unfurling itself like a bloody curtain between herself and
the people--a terrible rendering of their feelings.

However, all this hatred was meant still more for Bothwell than for her:
they were pursuing Bothwell in Darnley's widow. The curses were for
Bothwell: Bothwell was the adulterer, Bothwell was the murderer, Bothwell
was the coward; while Mary was the weak, fascinated woman, who, that same
evening, gave afresh proof of her folly.

In fact, directly the falling night had scattered the crowd and a little
quiet was regained, Mary, ceasing to be uneasy on her own account, turned
immediately to Bothwell, whom she had been obliged to abandon, and who