II

At eleven o'clock the next morning, Gilles sent word round to Monseigneur the governor of the Cambrésis that he would wait on him within the hour. Together with this message he sent the sealed letter wherein the Queen of Navarre commended her dear brother François, Duc d'Anjou, to the good graces of Monseigneur the governor.

At the hour when the messenger arrived, M. le Comte de Lalain, who was governor of Flanders and one of d'Inchy's closest associates, was closeted with the latter in one of the stately rooms of the Archiepiscopal Palace where M. d'Inchy had taken up his abode after he had dispossessed the Archbishop and taken possession of the city. D'Inchy, obviously nervy and anxious, quickly dismissed the messenger; then he turned to de Lalain and, throwing the Queen's letter across the table to him, he said briefly: 'Well, he has come!'

De Lalain in his turn read the letter through. Then he sighed.

'Yes,' he said. 'He, at any rate, seems determined to carry the adventure through.'

'I hope to God that we have done right,' rejoined d'Inchy. 'The whole thing, now that it is upon us, appears to me more foolish than ever it did before.'

'And there is no drawing back now, unfortunately.'

'The whole affair is in God's hands,' quoth d'Inchy sententiously.

'In the hands of an irresponsible and dissolute prince,' said the other moodily. 'I blame de Montigny for having consented so readily.'

'Then you must blame yourself too, my friend,' retorted d'Inchy dryly. 'You, too, consented, and so did I....'

'I know that well enough! Like yourself, de Montigny and I acted for the best, though I for one could even now with zest strike that Valois Prince in the face for this insult upon our ward.'

But d'Inchy apparently was all for a conciliating attitude and a cheerful view of the situation.

'Do not,' he said lightly, 'let us use grandiloquent words, my dear de Lalain. There is no insult in a man's desire to see the woman whom he is asked to wed. For the time being Jacqueline will hold herself aloof. She will appear little in public, and then only wearing a mask. After a few days, if affairs seem to be shaping to our satisfaction, we can always allow a certain degree of intimacy. Jacqueline is so beautiful that we really run no risk of refusal. And,' he added with a quick sign of finality, 'in any case we had no choice.'

'Alas, no!' rejoined de Lalain ruefully. 'For of a truth I cannot bring myself to believe in Orange as the saviour of the Netherlands. He thinks that he can rally the burghers and the mass of the people to his standard. But I doubt it. And if he fails in his present campaign we shall all fall into a veritable abyss of humiliation and dependence on those abominable Spaniards—far worse than ever before.'

'And all our friends think the same, as you well know, my good de Lalain,' continued d'Inchy firmly. 'An alliance with a prince of the House of France is safer than a submission to the leadership of Orange. We want the help of France; we want her well-trained armies, her capable generals, the weight of her wealth and influence to drive the Spaniards out of our provinces. Elizabeth of England promises much but holds little. She is on the side of Orange. I am on the side of France.'

'So am I, my good d'Inchy,' rejoined de Lalain; 'else I had never consented to the Queen of Navarre's madcap scheme.'

'Nor I,' concluded d'Inchy with the solemn earnestness of political fanaticism. 'So why all these misgivings, my good friend?'

'Was it fair to the girl?' murmured the other almost involuntarily. 'Monsieur is as fickle as he is unprincipled. Had we the right to toy with a woman's heart—a young girl's—our kinswoman——?'

'You wrong Jacqueline by such doubts, my friend. She is not a child nor yet an irresponsible girl. She knows that her person and her fortune are powerful assets in the future of her country. She is a patriot, and will never allow sentiment to overrule her duty.'

Perhaps de Lalain would have liked to continue the argument. Obviously his conscience was smiting him a little now that the curtain had actually rung up on the first act of the foolish adventure. The ill-fame of the Valois prince had preceded him long ago. De Lalain knew—and so did d'Inchy, so did de Montigny—that Monsieur was both profligate and faithless. He, like the others, had entered into a bargain with one whom they could never trust. Was it fair? Was it just? Would God's blessing descend upon the proposed Kingdom of the Netherlands if its foundations rested on so infamous a base? And yet de Lalain, though conscious of that vague feeling of remorse, had no thought of turning back. Even now, as a tall, masked figure appeared under the lintel of the door in the wake of the usher, and then stepped boldly into the room, he made a great effort to control his resentment. Though his hand ached to drag the mask away from the man's face, to try and read him eye to eye, his reason re-asserted itself, re-adjusted his thoughts and his sentiments. 'This,' it whispered insistently, 'this man who has come to Cambray masked and disguised, is a prince of the House of France. If he approve of the beautiful Flemish heiress and consents to take her for wife, the future of the Netherlands is assured, even though he were twenty times as base as he is depicted.'

And reason gained the victory. D'Inchy already had gone a few steps forward in order to greet his exalted visitor. De Lalain composed himself too, even paid an involuntary tribute of admiration to that tall and martial-looking figure which enshrined, so rumour had it, a soul that was both weak and false.