The monk waved his hand; and an instant after, the door of the cell opened, and Martin Grille appeared, booted and spurred, with his dress covered with dust, and every sign about him of long riding over parched and sandy roads.
"Well Martin," exclaimed the young man, as soon as he saw him, "what says the Lord Willoughby?"
"But little, and not pleasant," replied Martin Grille. "However, he has written. Here is his letter."
Jean Charost took the paper which the man held out to him, and tore it open eagerly; but his face turned pale as he read, and he exclaimed, "Fifteen thousand crowns for a baron's ransom! This is ruin."
"I think he can not help himself," said Martin Grille; "for he seemed very much vexed when he wrote. Indeed, he told me that the ransoms had been fixed by higher power."
"Ay, ay! A mere excuse," exclaimed Jean Charost. "This greedy Englishman is resolved to make the most of the capture of a wounded man."
"Passion, my son, passion!" said the monk. "What the good lord says is true, I do believe. 'Tis the ambition and policy of his master, not his own greed. I have heard something of this, and feared the result. King Henry is resolved that all those who might serve France best against him should either pay the expenses of his next campaign by their ransoms, or linger out their time in English prisons, while he goes forth to conquer France."
"Shame be upon him," cried Jean Charost.
"Wouldst thou not do the same wert thou the King of England?" asked the monk.
Jean Charost mused for several minutes. "Then there is naught for me but a prison," he said, at length. "I will not impoverish my poor mother, nor my sweet little Agnes. It has cost enough to furnish me forth for this fatal battle. Oh, that Frenchmen had coolness as well as courage, discipline as well as activity! Oh, that they had won the day: I would not have treated my prisoners so. Well, God's will be done--I will cross the seas, and give myself up to captivity. Let me have things for writing, Martin Grille."