"Oh, madam, Theudebert was unrecognizable. Unnerved, irresolute and languid, he had no will except to go from his bed to table, and from table to bed with his concubines. He hardly had enough spirit to hunt with falcons, a woman's amusement; the hunt of wild animals he could not think of, it was too tiring. I was not at all surprised at the change. From being robust, pert and loving noisy games since his early childhood, he became sickly, weak, puny, dreamy, and preferred darkened rooms as if the light of the sun hurt his eyes. In short, he had given promise of becoming a man of large size, but he died stunted and almost beardless."
"It was that I aimed at, Chrotechilde. Precocious debauchery unnerves the soul as much as it does the body. Accordingly Theudebert's issue was not born with vitality enough to survive."
"True enough; I never saw such puny children—but what else could be expected from a dwarfish and almost imbecile father?"
"And yet, as early as his twelfth year, Theudebert used to say haughtily: 'I am the King of Austrasia! I am master!'"
"Yes, but afterwards, whenever you sought to converse with him upon matters of state, and you called his attention to his being King, the boy would regularly answer you in his languid voice and with his eyes half shut: 'Grandmother, I am King of my women, of my amphoras of old wine and of my falcons! Reign in my stead, grandmother; reign in my name, if you please!'"
"And it did please me, Chrotechilde. I reigned in Austrasia for my grandson Theudebert until the day when that vile slave Bilichilde, availing herself of her influence over the imbecile King, drove me from Metz—drove out me—Brunhild!"
"Ever the remembrance of that occurrence! Again does the storm gather over your forehead! Again your eyes shoot lightning! But, by the heavens, madam; the slave has been strangled, the imbecile and his son are both dead—they have both been killed and lie in their graves. I even forgot that, in order to complete the hecatomb of those malefic animals, Quintio, the stewart of the palace and Duke of Champagne, who took an improper part in the affair of Metz, was put to death upon your orders. What more can you wish? Besides, in exchange for the Austrasia that you lost, did you not gain a Burgundy? If Theudebert drove you from Metz, did you not take refuge here, in Chalon, near your other grandson Thierry? Enervated and besotted through overindulgence with the women that we furnished him with, did you not drive him to undertake a merciless war against his own brother, whom he overcame at Toul and Tolbiac, and who, after these defeats, was himself, together with his son put to death, as I reminded you a minute ago? Thus revenged for being exiled from Metz, have you not ever since held sway over Thierry and actually reigned in his stead? When Aegila, the stewart of the palace, made you apprehensive by reason of his growing influence over your grandson, you promptly rid yourself of Aegila, and you substituted him with your lover Protade, who thereupon became the mayor of the palace—"
"But they killed him, Chrotechilde—they killed him—they killed my lover, my Protade!"
"Come, madam; we are here among ourselves; admit that a Queen never suffers any dearth of lovers. You need only choose among the handsomest, the youngest, the most appetizing nobles of the court. Moreover, madam, without meaning to make you any reproaches on that score, if they did kill your Protade, did you not in turn kill their Bishop Didier?"
"Perchance he did not merit his fate?"