"Very good," said Charles, dismissing the doctor with no sign of
emotion.

That evening the duchess took a medicine ordered by the doctor; and
when, half an hour later, she was assailed with violent pains, the duke
was warned that perhaps other physicians ought to be consulted, as
the prescription of the ordinary doctor, instead of bringing about an
improvement in her state, had only made her worse.

Charles slowly went up to the duchess's room, and sending away all the
people who were standing round her bed, on the pretext that they were
clumsy and made his mother worse, he shut the door, and they were alone.
Then poor Agnes, forgetting her internal agony when she saw her son,
pressed his hand tenderly and smiled through her tears.

Charles, pale beneath his bronzed complexion, his forehead moist with a
cold sweat, and his eyes horribly dilated, bent over the sick woman and
asked her gloomily--

"Are you a little better, mother?"

"Ah, I am in pain, in frightful pain, my poor Charles. I feel as though
I have molten lead in my veins. O my son, call your brothers, so that
I may give you all my blessing for the last time, for I cannot hold out
long against this pain. I am burning. Mercy! Call a doctor: I know I
have been poisoned."

Charles did not stir from the bedside.