"Alas!" cried they, "all will go ill with us now! we shall be attacked by all our neighbours: no more peace and safety for us; nothing but misery and subjection, for we have none to defend us now, and none to answer the challenger.

Ha, Gaston! unfortunate son! why did you offend your father?
We might still have looked to you; for beautiful and great was your beginning, and much comfort were we promised in you.

We lost you too young, and your father has left us too soon.

Alas! he had seen but sixty-three years--no great age for a knight so powerful and so strong, and one who had all his wishes and desires.

Oh, land of Bearn! desolate, and lamenting for thy noble heir, what is to be thy fate?
Never shall be seen the peer of the gentle and noble Count of Foix!" With such cries and tears was the body of Gaston Phoebus, "uncovered on a bier," brought through Orthez to the church of the Cordeliers, and there laid in state; with forty-eight squires to guard it, and four-and-twenty large tapers burning by it, night and day.