closely examined, it might have passed for an official baton of a more solemn character. These were the only badges of his office which his dress exhibited. In other respects, it was such as to match with that of the most courtly nobles. His bonnet displayed a medal of gold; he wore a chain of the same metal around his neck; and the fashion of his rich garments was not much more fantastic than those of young gallants who have their clothes made in the extremity of the existing fashion.
To this personage Charles, and Louis, in imitation of his host, often addressed themselves during the entertainment; and both seemed to manifest, by hearty laughter, their amusement at the answers of Le Glorieux.
'Whose seats be those that are vacant?' said Charles to the jester.
'One of those at least should be mine by right of succession, Charles,' replied Le Glorieux.
'Why so, knave?' said Charles.
'Because they belong to the Sieur D'Hymbercourt and Des Comines, who are gone so far to fly their falcons, that they have forgot their supper. They who would rather look at a kite on the wing than a pheasant on the board, are of kin to the fool, and he should succeed to the stools, as a part of their movable estate.'
'That is but a stale jest, my friend Tiel,' said the Duke; 'but, fools or wise men, here come the defaulters.'
As he spoke, Comines and D'Hymbercourt entered the room, and, after having made their reverence to the two Princes, assumed in silence the seats which were left vacant for them.
'What ho! sirs,' exclaimed the Duke, addressing them, 'your sport has been either very good or very bad, to lead you so far and so late. Sir Philip des Comines, you are dejected – hath D'Hymbercourt won so heavy a wager on you? – You are a philosopher, and should not grieve at bad fortune. – By Saint George! D'Hymbercourt looks as sad as thou dost. – How now, sirs? Have you found no game? or have you lost your falcons? or has a witch crossed your way? or has the Wild Huntsman[47] met you in the forest? By my honour, you seem as if you were come to a funeral, not a festival.'
While the Duke spoke, the eyes of the company were all directed towards D'Hymbercourt and Des Comines; and the embarrassment and dejection of their countenances, neither being of that class of persons to whom such expression of anxious melancholy was natural, became so remarkable, that the mirth and laughter of the company, which the rapid circulation of goblets of excellent wine had raised to a considerable height, was gradually hushed; and, without being able to assign any reason for such a change in their spirits, men spoke in whispers to each other, as on the eve of expecting some strange and important tidings.
'What means this silence, Messires?' said the Duke, elevating his voice, which was naturally harsh. 'If you bring these strange looks, and this stranger silence, into festivity, we shall wish you had abode in the marshes seeking for herons, or rather for woodcocks and howlets.'
'My gracious lord,' said Des Comines, 'as we were about to return hither from the forest, we met the Count of Crevecoeur.'
'How!' said the Duke; 'already returned from Brabant? – but he found all well there, doubtless?' –
'The Count himself will presently give your Grace an account of his news,' said D'Hymbercourt, 'which we have heard but imperfectly.'
'Body of me, where is the Count?' said the Duke.
'He changes his dress, to wait upon your Highness,' answered D'Hymbercourt.
'His dress? Saint-bleu!' exclaimed the impatient Prince, 'what care I for his dress? I think you have conspired with him to drive me mad!'
'Or rather, to be plain,' said Des Comines, 'he wishes to communicate these news at a private audience.'
'Teste-dieu! my Lord King,' said Charles, 'this is ever the way our counsellors serve us – If they have got hold of aught which they consider as important for our ear, they look as grave upon the matter, and are as proud of their burden as an ass of a new packsaddle. – Some one bid Crevecoeur come to us directly! – He comes from the frontiers of Liege, and we, at least,' (he laid some emphasis on the pronoun,) 'have no secrets in that quarter which we would shun to have proclaimed before the assembled world.'
All perceived that the Duke had drunk so much wine as to increase the native obstinacy of his disposition; and though many would willingly have suggested that the present was neither a time for hearing news, nor for taking counsel, yet all knew the impetuosity of his temper too well to venture on farther interference, and sat in anxious expectation of the tidings which the Count might have to communicate.
A brief interval intervened, during which the Duke remained looking eagerly to the door, as if in a transport of impatience, whilst the guests sat with their eyes bent on the table, as if to conceal their curiosity and anxiety. Louis alone maintaining perfect composure, continued his conversation alternately with the grand carver and with the jester.
At length Crevecoeur entered, and was presently saluted by the hurried question of his master, 'What news from Liege and Brabant, Sir Count? – the report of your arrival has chased mirth from our table – we hope your actual presence will bring ipback to us.'
'My liege and master,' answered the Count, in a firm, but melancholy tone, 'the news which I bring you are fitter for the council board than the feasting table.'
'Out with them, man, if they were tidings from Antichrist!' said the Duke; 'but I can guess them – the Liegeois are again in mutiny.'
'They are, my lord,' said Crevecoeur, very gravely.
'Look there, man,' said the Duke, 'I have hit at once on what you have been so much afraid to mention to me – the harebrained burghers are again in arms. It could not be in better time, for we may at present have the advice of our own Suzerain,' bowing to King Louis, with eyes which spoke the most bitter, though suppressed resentment, 'to teach us how such mutineers should be dealt with. – Hast thou more news in thy packet? Out with them, and then answer for yourself why you went not forward to assist the Bishop.'
'My lord, the farther tidings are heavy for me to tell, and will be afflicting to you to hear. – No aid of mine, or of living chivalry, could have availed the excellent Prelate. William de la Marck, united with the insurgent Liegeois, has taken his Castle of Schonwaldt, and murdered him in his own hall.'
'Murdered him!' repeated the Duke, in a deep and low tone, but which nevertheless was heard from the one end of the hall in which they were assembled to the other; 'thou hast been imposed upn, Crevecoeur, by some wild report – it is impossible!'
'Alas! my lord!' said the Count, 'I have it from an eyewitness, an archer of the King of France's Scottish Guard, who was in the hall when the murder was committed by William de la Marck's order.'
'And who was doubtless aiding and abetting in the horrible sacrilege!' exclaimed the Duke, starting up and stamping with his foot with such fury, that he dashed in pieces the footstool which was placed before him. 'Bar the doors of this hall, gentlemen – secure the windows – let no stranger stir from his seat, upon pain of instant death! – Gentlemen of my chamber, draw your swords.' And turning upon Louis, he advanced his own hand slowly and deliberately to the hilt of his weapon, while the King, without either showing fear or assuming a defensive posture, only said,
'These news, fair cousin, have staggered your reason.'
'No!' replied the Duke, in a terrible tone, 'but they have awakened a just resentment, which I have too long suffered to be stifled by trivial considerations of circumstance and place. Murderer of thy brother! – rebel against thy parent! – tyrant over thy subjects! – treacherous ally! – perjured King! – dishonoured gentleman! – thou art in my power, and I thank God for it.'
'Rather thank my folly,' said the King; 'for when we met on equal terms at Montl'hery, methinks you wished yourself farther from me than we are now.' The Duke still held his hand on the hilt of his sword, but refrained to draw his weapon, or to strike a foe, who offered no sort of resistance which cpld in anywise provoke violence.
Meanwhile, wild and general confusion spread itself through the hall. The doors were now fastened and guarded by order of the Duke; but several of the French nobles, few as they were in number, started from their seats, and prepared for the defence of their Sovereign. Louis had spoken not a word either to Orleans or Dunois since they were liberated from restraint at the Castle of Loches, if it could be termed liberation, to be dragged in King Louis's train, objects of suspicion evidently, rather than of respect and regard; but, nevertheless, the voice of Dunois was first heard above the tumult, addressing himself to the Duke of Burgundy. – 'Sir Duke, you have
