"There are wrongs, King of France, which will drive men mad," said St. Florent, fixing his eyes full upon the king's face. "Mine were such wrongs, and I was so driven mad. But yet in this act, which you call strange, I was more sane than in aught else. This young man's father I knew and loved, before he ruined himself for his king, and died for his country. Of the youth himself I had heard high and noble report from this good merchant here. I had seen him once, too, in the convent of the Celestins, and what I saw was good. I knew that I could trust her to none better, and I trusted her to him."
"But can you prove that she is your wife's daughter?" asked La Trimouille; "for these papers in the hands of the chancellor seem to show, and Monsieur De Brecy himself admits there is cause to believe, that she is the child of the late Duke of Orleans, and consequently a ward of the king."
He spoke in a mild, sweet tone; but his words seemed almost to drive St. Florent to madness. His whole face worked, his eyes flashed, and the veins in his temple swelled. "Man, would you tear my heart out?" he exclaimed, in a fearful tone. "Would you drag forth the dead from the grave to desecrate their memory?" and snatching up the other packet which De Brecy had laid upon the table, he tore off the cover, exclaiming, "Ha! these are trinkets. Poor, lost, unhappy girl!" and, laying his finger upon the cover, he looked sternly at La Trimouille, saying, "Whose are these arms? Mine! Whose are these initials? Hers--Marie de St. Florent!"
As he spoke, he opened the case and gazed upon the diamonds. "Oh, Marie, Marie," he said, "when I clasped these round thy neck, little did I think--But no more of that. My lord the king, what does your majesty say to my just claim? I gave my daughter's guardianship to this young man: I now give him her hand. I ratify your gift of the lands and lordships of St. Florent. What says your majesty?"
"In sooth, I know not what to say or think," answered Charles.
"I think I see my way, sire," said the chancellor; "although the case is somewhat complicated. If Monsieur De St. Florent can prove that this young lady is the daughter of his wife, he is undoubtedly, by the law of France, her lawful guardian, and all opposition to his claim grounded on other facts is vain. So much for that view of the case. But even supposing he can not prove the fact, here is a letter from his highness the Duke of Orleans, whose handwriting I well know, which, though somewhat informal, contains matter which clearly conveys the whole of his authority over the young lady, if he had any, to Monsieur De Brecy. In either case, then, your majesty can not err, nor violate any of your own edicts, or those of your predecessors, by restoring the guardianship to him from whom it has been taken under a misapprehension. Any other course, I think, would be dangerous, and form a very evil precedent."
Trimouille bit his lip, and Jeanne de Vendôme slowly nodded her head, with a bitter smile, toward Agnes Sorel.
"So be it, then," said the king, with a gracious look toward Jean Charost. "Take her back, De Brecy, if you can find her, which we doubt not; and if you bestow her hand on any one else but yourself, he shall have our favor for your sake. If you wed her yourself, we will dance at the wedding, seeing that you have submitted with patience and obedience to a sentence which we sternly pronounced, and sternly executed against you, in order to teach all our court and subjects that not even those whom we most highly esteem, and who have served us best, will be permitted to oppose our expressed will, or show disobedience to our commands. Your sentence of exile from our court is recalled, and we shall expect, not only your attendance, but your service also; for, wedded or unwedded, we can spare no good sword from the cause of France."
He spoke gayly and gracefully, and then looking round with a smile, he said, "Is there no wise and pitiful person who, in charity, can give us some information of where our fair fugitive is?"
"In my castle of St. Florent," said the old count, who had now sunk down again into the appearance of age and decrepitude; "and there De Brecy will find her to-morrow. Let him take her, and let him take her inheritance also; for I go back to my own living tomb, to work out the penance of deeds done in madness and despair."