CHAPTER XLII.
A ROYAL VISIT.

HE countenance of the King of France did not
belie his heart. He was sad, and much more
dejected than when he was in captivity and chains
at Mansourah, bullied by the Saracens, and threatened
with the bernicles. Nor was there any affectation
in his continuing to wear the cross on his shoulder;
as he proved, sixteen years later, when he undertook
his ill-fated expedition to Tunis, and died, on a bed
of ashes, amid the ruins of Carthage, looking up to
heaven, and exclaiming with his latest breath, ‘I
will enter into Thy house; I will worship in Thy
holy tabernacle !’

Meanwhile the saint-king appeared inconsolable,
and refused to be comforted. Even the affectionate
velcome accorded him by his people failed to dispel
his gloom or cheer his soul. Day and night he
brooded over his defeats and disasters, and sighed
dolefully as his memory recalled the humiliation
to which, in his person, the cause of Christianity
had been exposed at the hands of the Moslem.

Fortunately, at that time, Henry, King of Eneland,
being at Bordeaux, offered Louis a visit; and the