"What do you mean?" cried Walter of Lovendeghem; "are you not going to court with us tomorrow, Diederik?"
"Yes, I shall be there with you; but neither you nor the Frenchmen shall know me. I have said it, it will take a better huntsman than King Philip to catch the fox. God have you in His guard, gentlemen!"
He was already out of the door while he addressed to them this last greeting.
The Count withdrew with his attendants, and the rest of the company likewise left the apartment, and betook themselves to their beds.
Already at the appointed hour the Flemish knights, with their old Count, might be seen standing in a spacious hall of the royal palace; but without their arms, which they had had to lay aside in an antechamber. Joy and satisfaction shone upon their countenances, as though they were congratulating themselves beforehand on the promised pardon. Robert de Bethune's alone wore quite a different expression from those of all the rest; on it were to be read bitter annoyance and stifled rage. It was only with much difficulty that the valiant Fleming could brook the insolent glances of the French knights; and it was solely consideration for his father that kept him from demanding an account from more than one of them. The violence he was obliged to put upon himself caused a severe struggle in his breast, and from time to time an observant eye might have remarked a convulsive clutching of his fingers, as though grasping something which they endeavored to crush.
Charles de Valois stood by the old Count in friendly conversation with him, awaiting the moment when, at his brother's command, he should present the Flemings at the foot of the throne. There were besides many abbots and bishops present in the hall; as also some of the good burgesses of Compiegne, who had purposely been invited to attend the ceremony.
While all present were busily talking over the affair of the Count of Flanders, an old pilgrim entered the hall. But little indeed was to be discerned of his countenance; for the broad-brimmed hat, deeply pressed down upon his brow, overshadowed his visage, which was moreover humbly bent downward upon his breast, with the eyes fixed upon the ground. His figure was concealed under a wide upper garment of brown stuf¥, and a long stick, with a drinking-vessel attached, supported his travel-weary limbs. The prelates, as soon as they observed him, came up to him and overwhelmed him with all kinds of questions. The one desired to know how it stood with the Christians in Syria, another the last news of the Italian wars, a third inquired whether he had brought back with him any precious relics of the saints, and many other like questions were put to him, such as his character of pilgrim suggested. He answered as one might who had just returned from those distant parts, and had so many wonders to relate that all listened to him with interest and respect. Although the most of what he told was serious and even moving, yet ever and anon came an expression from his mouth of such comic force that the prelates themselves could not refrain from laughter. He soon had a circle of more than fifty persons about him, of whom some carried their veneration for his character so far that they secretly passed their hands over his ample pilgrim's coat, in the hope of thus obtaining the blessing of Heaven.
And yet the mysterious stranger was, in truth, no pilgrim; the lands which he seemed so well to know he had indeed visited in his youth; but that was long ago, and his memory did not always serve him; then his imagination had to stand him in stead;—and often when he told of the wonders he had seen, he chuckled within himself over the credulity of his hearers. The seeming.palmer was, in truth, Diederik die Vos, who possessed in unrivaled perfection the art of disguising himself, and of assuming the most various forms and characters. Putting no trust whatever in the royal word, and not choosing, as he had told the Count, that King Philip should trap the fox, he had thus disguised himself, in order to escape the danger which he foresaw.
And now the king and queen entered the hall, with a numerous train of knights and pages, and took their seats upon the throne. Most of the French knights ranged themselves along the walls; the rest stood together at the farther end of the hall, and near them the citizens who were present. Two heralds, with the arms of France and of Navarre, were stationed, one on either hand, at the foot of the throne.
The king gave a sign, and Charles de Valois came forward with the Flemish nobles. Velvet cushions were placed on the ground in front of the throne, and on these the Flemings knelt on one knee, in which humble position they awaited in silence the king's declaration. On Count Guy's right hand knelt his son William; and on his left Walter of Maldeghem, a noble of high rank. Robert de Bethune was not in his place; he remained at some distance, standing among the French knights, and for a while entirely escaped King Philip's notice.
Queen Joanna's dress was all brilliant with gold and jewels; on her head was a royal crown, which threw back the sun's rays from its thousand diamonds. Haughty and arrogant, she kept casting round contemptuous looks upon the Flemish nobles as they knelt, and grimly smiled her hate upon the old Count whom she purposely kept waiting in his attitude of humiliation. At last she whispered a few words in Philip's ear, who thereupon, in a loud voice, thus addressed Count Guy:
"Unfaithful vassal! out of our royal mercy we have been graciously pleased to cause
