Monsieur le Marquis lay in his bed, the bed from which he was to rise
but once again in life. His thin fingers had drawn the coverlet
closely under his chin, and from time to time they worked
spasmodically. His head, scarce less white than the pillow beneath it,
went on nodding from side to side, as if in perpetual negation to those
puzzling questions which occupied his brain. His eyebrows were
constantly bending, and his grey eyes burned with a fever which was
never to be subdued. Across the foot of the bed lay a golden bar of
morning sunlight.
"How long must I lie in this cursed bed?" he asked.
Brother Jacques left the window and came to the bedside. "Perhaps a
month, Monsieur; it all depends upon your patience."
"Patience? I have little against my account. When does the Henri IV
sail?"
"A week from to-day."
"In bed or on foot, I shall sail with it. I am weary of trees, and
rocks, and water. I desire to see the cobbles of Rochelle and Périgny
before I die. Have you no canary in this abominable land?"
"The physician denies you wine, Monsieur."
"And what does that fool know about my needs?" demanded the invalid,
stirring his feet as if striving to cast aside the sunlight. "Draw the
shutter; the sun bites into my eyes. I abhor sunshine in bed. I am
seventy, and yet I have risen with the sun for more than sixty-five
years. Have you any books?"
"Only of a religious and sacred character, and a volume of the letters
of the Order." Brother Jacques offered these without confidence.
"Drivel! Find me something lively: Monsieur Brantôme, for instance.
Surely Monsieur de Lauson has these memoirs in his collection."
"I shall make inquiries." Brother Jacques was not at ease.
A long pause ensued.
It was the marquis who broke it. "Why do you come and stand at the
side of the bed and stare at me when you suppose I am sleeping? I have
watched you, and it annoys me."
"I shall do so no more, Monsieur."
"But why?"
"Perhaps I was contemplating what a happiness it would be to bring
about your salvation."
"Ah! I remember now. I told you that if ever I changed my mind
regarding worship I should make my first confession to you. Yes, I
remember distinctly. Well, Monsieur, you have still some time to wait.
I am not upon my death-bed."
The priest turned aside his head.
"Eh? Has that fool of a blood-letter made an ante-mortem?"
"No, Monsieur. But the strongest and youngest of us retire each night,
not knowing if we shall rise with the morrow. And you are more ill
than you think. It is what they call the palsy. It can not be cured.
But your soul may be saved. There is time."