but of a darker colour, yet more conspicuous from its being blended with grey. She was thin even to emaciation, but the fine features retained traces of their former beauty, and the large blue eyes were soft as a dove’s, and clear as those of a spirit. But the dying lady was restless and anxious, she looked faintly around for one who was not there. In consideration of the Princess' danger, Mimi had been allowed to leave the castle; she was the bearer of a letter from Sophie to her husband, who was now King of England. He had just arrived in his electoral dominions, and would have to pass near the castle.
At an inn where he was to change horses, Mimi awaited him. The purple shadows of twilight were on the sky when he arrived. You heard the galloping of the guards, the rolling of the carriage wheels, and, amid dust and shouts, the royal cavalcade stopped at the inn door. The monarch called for a light, which, for a gold piece, the daughter of the host allowed Mimi to bear. She gave the light, and gave also a letter. The pipe fell from the king’s hand—he knew the writing.
"Je me meurs," exclaimed he, sinking back in the carriage.
The confusion attendant upon his illness enabled Mimi to glide away unnoticed, but she saw that in the king’s face there was death. The white moon, that had been pale in the sky as a crescent of snow, had cleared into light, when Mimi entered the chamber of her dying mistress. The warm crimson, and the golden haze of sunset, had faded into deep obscurity, scarcely broken by the far dim lamps that swung from the roof; but the face of the Princess was distinctly visible, for the moon shone directly upon it. Faintly she raised her head to welcome her faithful attendant, and her lips moved, but the words were lost in a faint rattling in the throat.
"I gave your letter to the King," whispered Mimi.
Sophie sat erect on the bed, a wild and supernatural gleam
