"My son Robert is a brave knight, as your king Philip experienced at the siege of Lille, when many a valiant Frenchman fell before Robert's sword. The men of Bruges, who love him better than they do me, have given him the surname of the Lion of Flanders, a title which he well deserved also in the battle of Benevento against Manfred."
"I have long known Messire Robert de Bethune," answered De Valois; "and every child, I ween, knows the story, how with his own hand he won the Damask blade he now wears from the tyrant Manfred. His deeds of arms are far and wide renowned among the chivalry of France. The Lion of Flanders passes with us for invincible, and has well earned his fame."
A smile of contentment gilded the old man's face; but suddenly his visage darkened, and his head sank upon his breast, while he sorrowfully replied:
"Ah! Messire de Valois! is it not a misery that I have no heritage to leave to such a son? To him who was so well fitted to bring the house of Flanders to fame and honor? It is the thought of that, and of the imprisonment of my poor child Philippa, which is fast hastening me to the grave. "
Charles de Valois made no answer to the old Count's lament. He was sunk in deep thought, so that even the rein had fallen from his hand, and was hanging from the pommel of the saddle. Count Guy long watched him as he thus sat, and could not enough admire the generous feeling of the brave knight, who was evidently, from his very heart, concerned for the woes of the house of Flanders.
But suddenly the French prince sat up in his saddle, his countenance beaming with joy; and laying his hand, with a sort of confidential familiarity, upon that of the old Count, he exclaimed:
"It is a suggestion of heaven!"
Guy looked at him with curiosity.
"Yes!" continued De Valois, "I will bring it about that my brother, Philip of France, shall restore you to the princely seat of your fathers."
"And what spell of power, think you, have you found to work this miracle, after he has conferred upon yourself the fief that he has taken from me?"
"Give me your ear, noble Count. Your daughter sits disconsolate in the dungeons of the Louvre; your fiefs are gone from you, and their heritage from your children; but T know a way by which your daughter shall be released, and yourself reinstated."
"What say you?" cried Guy, incredulously. "That I can not believe, Messire de Valois; unless, indeed, your queen, Joanna of Navarre, should have ceased to live."
"No: without that. Our king, Philip the Fair, is at this moment holding court at Compiegne; my sister-in-law Joanna and Enguerrand de Marigny are both at Paris. Come with me to Compiegne, take with you the chief nobles of the land, and, falling at my brother's feet, pray him that he will receive you once more to allegiance, as a repentant and faithful vassal."
"And then?" asked Guy, amazed.
"Then he will receive you into his favor, and you will recover both your land and your daughter. Be of good courage, and trust to these my words; for, the queen absent from his side, my brother is all generosity and magnanimity."
"Oh! blessings on your good angel for this saving inspiration! and on you, Messire de Valois, for your nobleness of soul!" cried Count Guy, joyfully. "O God! if only I may be able to dry the tears of my poor child! But alas! who knows whether instead of that, I may not myself find a dungeon and fetters in that fatal land of France!"
"Fear not. Count! fear not!" answered De Valois, "I will myself be your advocate and your protector; and a safe conduct under my seal and princely honor shall secure your free return, even should my efforts be in vain."
Guy let fall his rein, seized the French prince's hand, and, pressing it with fervent gratitude, exclaimed:
"You are a noble enemy!"
Meanwhile, as they thus discoursed, they had reached a wide plain, apparently of endless extent, watered by the gurgling stream of the Krekel. All now made ready for the sport.
The Flemish knights took each his falcon on his wrist; the strings which held the birds were made ready for casting off, and the hounds were properly distributed.
Knights and ladies were promiscuously mingled together; by chance Charles de Valois found himself by the side of the fair Matilda.
"I can not but think, fair lady," said he, "that you will bear away the prize of the day; for a finer bird than yours I have never beheld. What perfect plumage! what powerful wings! and then the yellow scales upon her claws! Is she heavy on the hand?"
"Yes, indeed, Messire," answered Matilda; "and although she has only been broken to a low flight, yet she would be quite a match for any crane or heron."
"It seems to me," remarked De Valois, "that she is somewhat full in flesh. Would it not be better, lady, to give her food softer?"
*'Oh, no! excuse me; no! Messire de Valois," cried the young lady; piqued for her reputation for good falconry, ''I am sure you are wrong there; my bird is just as she should be. Something of these matters I think I know; I have myself trained this noble bird, have watched her by night, and prepared her food myself. But quick, Messire de Valois, out of the way; for just over the brook there flies a snipe."
While the prince fixed his eye upon the point indicated, Matilda quickly unhooded her falcon, and cast her ofif.
The bird gave
