A healthy fatigue, no doubt; in the morning he will be stronger.
Alas! hour by hour his fever increased, the gangs of his internal wound became more and more intolerable. What expiation there may be in personal suffering was his at the last; no Vaudois suffered more than he that night, no Berquin in his chariot of fire. Suddenly all pain ceased. The abscess had begun to mortify, and his physicians announced to Francis that he had not many hours to live.
Francis thereupon sent for the Dauphin, and commended his kingdom to him in words so wise and sober, they make us marvel the monarch ruled no better who could advise so well. Never recall Montmorency, keep in check the Guises, diminish the taxes. Such were the dying counsels of the King, counsels that, if followed, would have averted twenty years of civil wars, the ruin of the Valois, and the massacre of St. Bartholomew. He also recommended the Cardinal de Tournon and Admiral d'Annebaut to the good offices of his son. And having rid himself of earthly cares, he died, a firm Catholic, free from pain at the last, on the 31st of March 1547, in the fifty-third year of his age. It is with a shock that we find him still so young. During the last seven years of his life, he had been not merely old, but superannuated.
More than a fortnight lapsed before Margaret heard of her brother's death. None dared to tell her of that last, most dread calamity. All the winter long she had been ailing and in great distress about her brother. Her ladies often discovered her in tears; and she would tell them that she feared the King was very ill, and, should he die, she was sure she would not long survive him. It was a severe winter; so cold,
