He got out of his coach and went inside. Mrs. Stewart, Frances’s mother, had been expecting him. He saw at a glance that she was nervous and excited, close to tears, and he knew then for certain that the doctors had been lying to him.
“Oh, your Majesty! I’m so glad you’ve come! She’s been longing to see you! Believe me, Sire, she’s never forgiven herself for that wretched trick she played on you!”
“How is she?”
“Oh, she’s much better! Very much better! She’s dressed and sitting up—though she’s weak yet, of course.”
Charles stood looking down at her, his black eyes reading what was behind her odd fluttering gestures, her quick breathless way of speaking, the anguish in her eyes and the new lines beneath them.
“May I see her now?”
“Oh, yes, your Majesty! Please come with me.”
“From the look of the courtyard, I’d say I’m not the only visitor she has today.”
Mrs. Stewart was mounting the stairs beside him. “It’s the first day she’s been allowed visitors, you see. The room’s quite full—all the town’s in there.”
“Then I think I’ll step into this anteroom until they leave.”
She went to send them away with the plea that Frances had had excitement enough for one day. Charles stood behind the closed door listening to them troop by, chattering and giggling with irresponsible malice. When at last they were gone Mrs. Stewart came for him. They walked down the gallery and into Frances’s own apartments, then through several more rooms until finally they reached the bedchamber where she sat waiting.
She half lay on a couch that faced the door and she was wearing a lovely silken gown which hung in folds to the floor. The draperies had been pulled across all windows to darken the room —it was only two o’clock—and though several candles burned all of them were placed at a distance from her. Charles swept off his hat and bowed, then immediately crossed the room to stand before her. He bowed again, deeply, and reluctantly he raised his eyes to look at her. What he saw sickened him.
She had changed. Oh, even in this dim light she had changed. The disease had spared her nothing. There were ugly red splotches and deep pock-marks on the skin that had been smooth and white as a water-lily, and one eye was partly closed. All that pure and perfect beauty was gone. But it was the misery in Frances’s own upraised begging eyes that struck him hardest.
Mrs. Stewart was still in the room—for Charles had asked her to stay—and she stood with her hands clasped before her, anxious and worried as she watched them. But Charles and Frances had forgotten she was there.
“My dear,” he said softly, forcing himself to speak after too long a silence. “Thank God you’re well again.”
Frances stared at him, struggling for self-control but afraid to trust her voice. At last she managed a pitiful little smile, but the corners of her mouth began to quiver. “Yes, your Majesty. I’m well again.” Her soft low voice dropped to a mere whisper. “If it’s anything to be grateful for.”
There was a sudden bitter twist of her mouth, her eyes went down and she looked quickly away. All at once she covered her face with her hands and began to cry, shoulders and body shaken with the violence of her sobs. It was, he knew, not only the agony of having him see what had happened to her, but the culmination of all she had endured this afternoon—the curious cruel spiteful eyes of the men and women who had been there, all elaborately polite, sympathetic, falsely cheerful. They had taken their revenge on her for every moment of grudging admiration she had ever had, for each fawning compliment, each hypocritical friendship.
Instantly Charles dropped to one knee beside her. His hand touched her arm lightly, the deep tones of his voice began to plead with her. “I’ve been so worried for you, Frances! Oh, my dear—forgive me for acting like a jealous fool!”
“Forgive you? Oh, Sire!” She looked at him, her hands still covering all her face but her eyes, as though she could hide from him behind them. “It’s I who must ask your forgiveness! That’s why this happened to me—I know it is!—to punish me for what I did to you!”
A wave of almost unbearable pity and tenderness swept over him. He felt that he would have given everything he possessed on earth to have her beautiful again, to see her look at him with her old teasing confident coquetry. But it had all gone forever, the sparkling expressions of her face, the happy laughter of a lovely woman who knows that her beauty will buy forgiveness for anything. Savage anger filled him. God in heaven! Does the world spoil
“Don’t talk like that, Frances. Please. I don’t know what made me act like such a fool—But when I heard you were sick I was out of my mind. If anything had happened to you—But thank God you’re well again! I’m not going to lose you.”
