Alas! poor children. They were a good way from the security they had begun to fancy for themselves. Early the next morning, Berenger went in his straightforward way to the King, thanked him, and requested his sanction for at once producing themselves to the court as Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne de Ribaumont.
At this Charles swore a great oath, as one in perplexity, and bade him not go so fast.
‘See here,’ said he, with the rude expletives only too habitual with him; ‘she is a pretty little girl, and she and her lands are much better with an honest man like you than with that pendard of a cousin; but you see he is bent on having her, and he belongs to a cut-throat crew that halt at nothing. I would not answer for your life, if you tempted him so strongly to rid himself of you.’
‘My own sword, Sire, can guard my life.’
‘Plague upon your sword! What does the foolish youth think it would do against half-a-dozen poniards and pistols in a lane black as hell’s mouth?’
The foolish young WAS thinking how could a king so full of fiery words and strange oaths bear to make such an avowal respecting his own capital and his own courtiers. All he could do was to bow and reply, ‘Nevertheless, Sire, at whatever risk, I cannot relinquish my wife; I would take her at one to the Ambassador’s.’
‘How, sir!’ interrupted Charles, haughtily and angrily, ‘if you forget that you are a French nobleman still, I should remember it! The Ambassador may protect his own countrymen-none else.’
‘I entreat your Majesty’s pardon,’ said Berenger, anxious to retract his false step. ‘It was your goodness and the gracious Queen’s that made me hope for your sanction.’
‘All the sanction Charles de Valois can give is yours, and welcome,’ said the King, hastily. ‘The sanction of the King of France is another matter! To say the truth, I see no way out of the affair but an elopement.’ ‘Sire!’ exclaimed the astonished Berenger, whose strictly-disciplined education had little prepared him for such counsel.
‘Look you! if I made you known as a wedded pair, the Chevalier and his son would not only assassinate you, but down on me would come my brother, and my mother, and M. de Guise and all their crew, veritably for giving the prize out of the mouth of their satellite, but nominally for disregarding the Pope, favouring a heretical marriage, and I know not what, but, as things go here, I should assuredly get the worst of it; and if you made safely off with your prize, no one could gainsay you—I need know nothing about it—and lady and lands would be your without dispute. You might ride off from the skirts of the forest; I would lead the hunt that way, and the three days’ riding would bring you to Normady, for you had best cross to England immediately. When she is one there, owned by your kindred, Monsieur le cousin may gnash his teeth as he will, he must make the best of it for the sake of the honour of his house, and you can safely come back and raise her people and yours to follow the Oriflamme when it takes the field against Spain. What! you are still discontented? Speak out! Plain speaking is a treat not often reserved for me.’