message was taken, and Francis rose from his bed and declared that he would go. The Cardinal de Tournon remonstrated in vain, urging that the fever was fatally contagious. But Francis was not to be moved from his purpose; he entered the chamber of his son alone.
The young Duke, haggard, exhausted, could not raise himself upon his pillows; but he bade his attendants lift him up, and stretching out his arms to the poor, half-fainting King, he cried, "Ah, Sire, I am dying! But now that I see you again, I die content." The effort was too much; the Duke fell back on his pillow, too weak to utter another word. In a few minutes he was dead; and the King, stricken as by a thunderbolt, was carried from the room in a swoon. It was the 13th of September, 1545.
So ended the fair promises of Crépy,—exactly one year and ten days after the signing of the treaty; exactly a year before any benefit could have accrued to France therefrom.
