"Nay; I would conduct the constable's daughter there to safety."
"And thus needlessly court Francis' resentment? Not yet."
The young man said no word, but his face hardened.
"Tut!" said the emperor, dryly, although not unkindly. "Where's fealty now? Fine words; fine words! A slender chit of a maid, forsooth. Without lands, without dowry; with naught—save herself."
"Is she not enough, Sire?"
"Francis is more easily disarmed in his own castle by his own hospitality than in the battle-field," observed Charles, without replying to this question. "In field have we conquered him; in palace hath he conquered himself, and our friendship. Therefore you and the maid return in our train to the king's court."
"At your order, Sire."
But the young man's voice was cold, ominous.