Before he had spent much time in this occupation, the bridge was lowered, and Robert Bethune entered the castle. As soon as he had dismounted, Diederik approached, and thus addressed him:
"I need not ask, noble Count, as to the result of your affair of to-day: the Lion's sword has never failed him yet; doubtless by this time Messire de Chatillon is on his journey for the other world."
"No," answered Robert; "my sword came down upon his helmet in such sort that he will hardly speak for some days to come. He is not dead; God be praised for that; but another mishap has befallen us. Adolf of Nieuwland, who was with me as my second, fought with St. Pol, and he had already wounded his opponent in the head, when his breastplate failed him; upon which he received a severe wound, I fear even a mortal one. In a few minutes you will see him, for men are now carrying him hither."
"But say, my lord," proceeded Diederik; "think you not that this journey to France is a venture somewhat of the rashest?"
"What journey? I know not what you mean."
"What! you have not yet heard of it?"
"Not one word."
"Well, we set off to-morrow with your noble father for France."
"What is it you say, Diederik? Are you jesting —to France?"
"Yes, Lord Robert. To throw ourselves at the feet of the French king, and sue for forgiveness. I have never yet seen a cat creep into a sack of her own accord; but before long I shall see it at Compiegne, or I am greatly mistaken."
"But are you quite sure of what you say, Diederik? You fill me with alarm."
"Sure, do you say? Be pleased to go into the hall; there you may see all your friends assembled with your father. To-morrow we set out for our prison. Believe me, then, and cross yourself when you leave Wynandael."
Robert could hardly contain himself for indignation at this intelligence.
"Diederik, my friend," he said, "I pray you have my poor Adolf taken up to my own chamber when he is brought in, and laid upon the left-hand bed. See that he is duly cared for until I can come myself; and send, too, for Master Roger to dress his wounds."
And with these words, he hurried away to the hall, where the Count was still in conference with his nobles, and pressed forward hastily till he stood before his father, not a little to the astonishment of all present; for he was still in full armor from head to foot.
'*0h, my lord and father!" cried he; "what report is this I hear? are you really about to deliver yourself up to your enemies, that they may make a mock of your gray hairs? that the vile Joanna may cast you into fetters?"
"Yes, my son," answered the Count steadfastly; "I am going to France, and you with me—such is the will of your father."
"Let it be so, then," replied Robert; "I will go with you; but not to fall at the king's feet! God forbid that we should so humiliate ourselves!"
"It must be so, my son; and it behooves you to accompany me," was the unalterable reply.
"I!" cried Robert in fury; "I fall at Philip's feet! I, Robert de Bethune, prostrate myself before our foe! What! shall the Lion of Flanders bow his head before a Frenchman, a maker of false coin, a perjured prince?"
The Count was silent for a few moments; but as soon as Robert's first burst of indignation had subsided, he resumed:
"And yet, my son, you will do it for my sake?"
"No, never!" cried Robert; "never shall that blot rest upon my shield. Bow before a foreigner—I! You know not your son, my father!"
"Robert," pursued the old Count calmly, "your father's will is a law for you: I command it!"
"No!" cried Robert yet again; "the Lion of Flanders bites, and fawns not. Before God alone, and you, my father, have I ever bowed the head or bent the knee; and no other man on earth shall be able to say of me that I have thus humbled myself before him."
"But, Robert," insisted his father, "have you no compassion for me, for your poor sister Philippa, and for our unhappy country, that you thus reject
the one only means by which we may yet be delivered?"
Robert wrung his hands violently, in a very agony of grief and anger.
"What will you now, my father?" he exclaimed; "do you indeed desire that a Frenchman should look down upon me as his slave? I am ready to die with shame at the very thought. No, never! Your command, your entreaty even, is of no avail. I w411 not—I can not do it!"
Two tears glistened upon the old man's hollow cheeks. The singular expression of his countenance threw the lookers-on into doubt whether it was joy or grief that had touched him, for at the same time a smile of comfort seemed to hover on his countenance.
Robert was deeply moved by his father's tears; he felt, as it were, the pains of martyrdom in his' heart. At last his emotion burst all bounds, and almost beside himself, he exclaimed:
"My prince and father! your curse upon me, if you will! but this I swear to you—never will I creep or bow before a Frenchman! In this thing I can not obey you."
But even amid all his excitement Robert was terrified at his own words. Pale and trembling in every limb, he clenched his hands convulsively, till the iron
