‘So,’ said Philip, when the old knight had quitted the room, ‘of course you cannot marry while Eustacie lives; but if—-’
‘Not another word, profane boy!’ angrily cried Berenger.
‘I was only going to say, it is a pity of one so goodly not to bring her over to the true faith, and take her to England.’
‘Much would she be beholden to you!’ said Berenger. ‘So!’ he added, sighing, ‘I had little hope but that it would be thus. I believe it is all a web of this old plotter’s weaving, and that the Queen-mother acts in it at his request. He wants only to buy me off with his daughter’s estates from asserting my claim to this castle and lands; and I trow he will never rise up here till—till—-’
‘Till when, Berry?’
‘Till mayhap my grandfather can move the Queen to do something for us; or till Madame de Selinville sees a face she likes better than her brother’s carving; or, what can I tell? till malice is tired out, and Heaven’s will sets us free. May Eustacie only have reached home! But I’m sorry for you, my poor Phil.’
‘Never heed, brother,’ said Philip; ‘what is prison to me, so that I can now and then see those lovely eyes?’
And the languishing air of the clumsy lad was so comical as to beguile Berenger into a laugh. Yet Berenger’s own feeling would go back to his first meeting with Diane; and as he thought of the eyes then fixed on him, he felt that he was under a trial that might become more severe.