Then came the Queen with her attendants, from her tent in the midst of
the ladies' lines, pitched as far as possible from the King's; and
leaving outside those who were with her, she went in and sat down by
Beatrix's bedside.
The girl was very pale and lay propped up by pillows, her eyelids half
shut against the light, though there was little enough under the thick
double canvas and a brazier of glowing woodcoals made the tent almost
too warm. A great Norman woman with yellow hair crouched beside her,
slowly fanning her face with a Greek fan of feathers. The Queen stood
still a moment, for she had entered softly, and Beatrix had not opened
her eyes, nor had the woman known her in the dimness. But when she
recognized the Queen, the maid's jaw dropped and her hand ceased to
move. Eleanor took the fan from her, and with a gesture bade her make
way, and then sat down in her place to do her duty.
Hearing the rustle of skirts and feeling that another hand fanned her,
the sick girl moved a little, but did not open her eyes, for her head
hurt her, so that she feared the light.
"Who is it?" she asked in the voice of pain.
"Eleanor," answered the Queen, softly.
Still fanning, she took the beautiful little white hand that lay
nearest to her on the edge of the bed. Beatrix opened her eyes in
wonder, for though the Queen was kind, she was not familiar with her
ladies. The girl started, as if she would have tried to rise.
"No," said Eleanor, quieting her like a child, "no, no! You must not
move, my dear.
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