Once again the old King had taken to his sickbed. Despite Monsieur le Premier Ministre dire suspicions of poison, his fairly competent physicians had diagnosed pneumonia. For this His Majesty would require lots of bedrest and copious amounts of water to be poured down his gullet. While his Majesty was more than happy to loll around under the covers, he was resistant to drinking anything but wine.
Of course whenever His Majesty took ill, a quiet pandemonium would strike the court. Servants would stand and sit in small groups, gossiping when they should have been working. Various nobles would crowd around the old King’s bedchamber hoping to hear the latest news. Of course Princess Pirouette never left his side. There she sat, morning, noon and night, offering him broth, wiping his brow, adjusting his covers and whispering encouragement. With such a nurse, how could he not recover?