melancholy deepened into apathy. She fell into a drowsiness from which her physicians could not rouse her. The heart, so hungry for emotions, the eager intellect, the generous sympathies, the poignant vitality of her nature; all these slept a deep slumber now. But through her stupor she dreamily wondered on the nature and fate of spirits. That was her preoccupation.
One night she dreamed that a very beautiful woman approached her bed, bearing in her hands a wreath of flowers—flowers of every sort that blow—and these, the angel said, were freshly gathered for Margaret to wear in Paradise. The Queen woke a little consoled. She had always put her trust in signs and visions. On the faith of a dream she could believe in Paradise.
A few days after this, a great comet was seen in the sky at night. The rumour went that it appeared for the death of Paul III. the Pope. Margaret, who had heard this tale, stood on an open balcony, looking at the blazing heaven, with the wintry stars in it, and the meteor flung across the blue. Standing there she must have remembered that other and more brilliant comet which appeared before her mother's death at Grèz-en-Gatinois. Margaret was ever superstitious. Suddenly her mouth was drawn a little awry. Her physician seeing this, persuaded her to go indoors; and to bed. He lost no time in treating her; but the December night had chilled her through; the spectacle of the comet had taken her courage away, and he felt persuaded she would die. The chill settled on her delicate lungs, and for three days she could not speak; but a few moments before the last she found her voice again. She caught at a cross which lay upon the bed, and, crying three times "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" in her
