‘Were you on your guard against mentioning your trust in your child’s life?’ said Sir Francis.
The long scar turned deeper purple than ever. ‘Only so far as that I said there still be rights I had no power to resign,’ said Berenger. ‘And then he began to prove to me—-what I had no mind to hear’ (and his voice trembled) ‘—-all that I know but too well.’
‘Hum! you must not be left alone again to cope with him,’ said Walsingham. ‘Did he make any question of the validity of your marriage?’
‘No, sir, it was never touched on. I would not let him take her name into his lips.’
Walsingham considered for some minutes, and then said, ‘It is clear, then, that he believes that the marriage can be sufficiently established to enable you to disturb him in his possession of some part, at least, of the Angevin inheritance, or he would not endeavour to purchase your renunciation of it by the hand of a daughter so richly endowed.’
‘I would willingly renounce it if that were all! I never sought it; only I cannot give up her child’s rights.’
‘And that you almost declared,’ proceeded Walsingham; ‘so that the Chevalier has by his negotiation gathered from you that you have not given up hope that the infant lives. Do your men know where you believe she is?’
‘My Englishmen know it, of course,’ said Berenger; ‘but there is no fear of them. The Chevalier speaks no English, and they scarcely any French; and, besides, I believe they deem him equally my butcher with his son. The other fellow I only picked up after I was on my way to Paris, and I doubt his knowing my purpose.’
‘The Chevalier must have had speech with him, though,’ said Philip; ‘for it was he who brought word that the old rogue wished to speak with you.’
‘It would be well to be quit yourself of the fellow ere leaving Paris,’ said Walsingham.