He shrugged his shoulders with his habitual easy-going good-humour.
'Madame gives me no choice,' he said. 'I cannot go back on my word.'
He bent the knee and kissed the gracious hand which was extended to him. Marguerite's eyes were still bathed in tears.
'If anything that I can do,' reiterated Gilles de Crohin solemnly, 'will retrieve Monseigneur's folly I'll do it.'
'Ah!' she riposted gently. 'But 'tis your solemn oath I want, Messire Gilles.'
'My word of honour, Madame,' he retorted bluntly, 'hath always been found sufficient.'
'Nay! your oath!' she insisted, pleading once more. 'A solemn, binding oath! One,' she added naïvely, 'which, if broken, would land you in hell.' Then, as a sudden scowl gathered on Gilles' brow, she continued in a tone of sadness and self-pity: 'Do not be angered, Messire. I know you for a loyal gentleman and have no doubt that, to you, your word is as good as your oath. But I have been so oft deceived, so oft befooled, that a man's word of honour hath lost its value in mine eyes. Can you blame me, remembering what I am suffering now?'
Gilles' sense of humour saved the situation. His word of honour had of a truth never been doubted, but in face of this sorely outraged woman, he could not take offence.
'What oath shall I take,' he queried, with a good-humoured smile, 'that will satisfy the Queen of Navarre?'
'On your immortal soul, Messire,' she said solemnly; 'on your hopes of salvation; on all that you hold most precious and most dear, swear to me that you will serve me in this matter as I shall direct you, and until I myself do release you from this bond.'