'To Monsieur Duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon, my child,' Monseigneur had insisted, and frowned slightly at what he called his ward's romantic fancies.
''Tis to the Defender of Cambray that I will dedicate my faith,' she had continued obstinately.
'Let the child be!' de Lalain had interposed, seeing that d'Inchy was about to lose his temper. 'After all, what does it matter, seeing that the Defender of Cambray and Monsieur Duc d'Anjou are one and the same?'
D'Inchy gave in. It did not really matter. If Jacqueline still harboured a doubt as to the identity of the masked stranger, it would soon be dispelled when Monsieur entered Cambray and came to claim her openly. Women were apt to have strange fancies; and this one, on Jacqueline's part, was harmless enough.
In any case, she appeared satisfied, and henceforth was quite submissive. In the midst of her sorrow, she felt a sweet, sad consolation in the thought that she would publicly plight her troth to the man whom she loved, proclaim before the whole world—her world that is, the only one that mattered—that she was for ever affianced to the brave man who had given his life, that Cambray might be saved.
In an inward vision she could see him still, as she saw him on that day upon the ramparts, with the April sun gilding his close-cropped head, with the light of enthusiasm dancing in his eyes, his arms bare, his clothes torn, his vibrant voice resounding from wall to wall and from bastion to bastion, till something of his own fire was communicated to all those who fought under his command.
To Jacqueline he was still so marvellously, so powerfully alive, even though his body lay stark and still at the foot of those walls which he had so bravely defended. He seemed to be smiling down on her from the clear blue of the sky, to nod at her with those banners which he had helped to keep unsullied before the foe. She heard his voice through the lengthy perorations of Monseigneur, the murmured approbation of the Provosts, through the cheers of the people. She felt his presence now as she had felt it through the past four weary months, while Cambray suffered and starved, and bore starvation and misery with that fortitude which he had infused into her.
And while Monseigneur the governor spoke his preliminary harangue, to which the people listened in silence, she stood firm and ready to speak the words which, in accordance with the quaint and ancient Flemish custom, would betroth her irrevocably to the man chosen for her by her guardians, even though he happened to be absent at the moment. For her, those words, the solemn act, would only register the vow which she had made long ago, the vow which bound her soul for ever to the hero who had gone.
'It is my purpose,' Monseigneur said solemnly, 'to plight this my lawful ward, Jacqueline, Dame de Broyart et de Morchipont, Duchesse et Princesse de Ramèse, d'Espienne et de Wargny, unto His Royal Highness, Hercule François de Valois, Duc d'Alençon et d'Anjou, and I hereby desire to ask the members of my Council to give their consent to this decree.'
And the Chief Magistrate, speaking in the name of the States General and of the City and Provincial Council, then gave answer: