Her prediction was verified, for Bertrandi had scarcely entered the room when Henry himself appeared, accompanied by his son, afterward Francis the Second, and followed by a page, who placed himself at the door to prevent any one from entering without permission. Every one present drew back as the king appeared, and bowed low; while, with a frowning brow, he crossed the cabinet, and seated himself at a small table. The dauphin then took a place upon his father's right hand, and the chancellor, after a deprecatory bow to the Duchess of Valentinois, advanced to the king's left.
"I grieve, madam," said Henry, addressing the Marchioness de Masseran, in a courteous tone, "I grieve to see you apparently so much altered in health. It would seem that the air of Savoy—that pure, fine air—suits not your constitution. We must keep you more with us in Paris."
"I have been suffering some anxiety and grief, sire," replied the lady, while the eyes of the Lord of Masseran were bent keenly and fiercely upon her.
"Most sorry am I to hear it," replied the king. "We believed that, in providing for you so noble and high a husband as the Lord of Masseran, we should have moved grief and anxiety from you altogether. We trust that we have not been deceived in this noble lord," continued the king, gazing sternly upon the Savoyard.
"Your majesty has, I believe, been mistaken in what this dear and excellent lady said," replied the Lord of Masseran; "I discovered no charge against myself in her words. Was there any, dear lady?"
"Oh, no," replied the lady, quickly, and, it seemed, fearfully; "none, none; I spoke alone of the grief and anxiety which, as you know, I came hither to lay before his majesty, if we were fortunate enough to find audience."
"Then I will beg you, madam," said the king, "to lay it before me at once, and fully, confiding in me entirely as you would in a brother, and remembering that, whoever be the offender, you have in the king one who can protect as well as punish, and who will protect wherever he sees wrong offered or evil suffered."
The lady gave a momentary glance at her husband, as if of timid inquiry. It was like a child saying its lesson, and looking up for a word of direction or encouragement. "I thank your majesty much," she said, "for your gracious promise, and I come to you with full confidence, feeling that you will grant me redress for what I consider a great injury. My complaint is this: that a gentleman of high rank and station, connected with some of the highest families of this realm, a distinguished soldier also, and one who has hitherto borne a high character—has, while pretending to carry on the war in Piedmont, and commanding certain bodies of your majesty's troops—has, I say, clandestinely carried away my daughter, Isabel de Brienne, during the temporary absence of my husband, Monsieur de Masseran. He had even induced a priest to perform the marriage ceremony between him and her, when the fortunate return of my husband at the very moment enabled him to seize them at the altar. I say, sire, that this is my complaint, and for this I beg redress; the more so, indeed, inasmuch as this very gentleman who has so acted was well aware that your majesty had expressed yourself strongly against such clandestine marriages, and had even proposed an edict declaring them void and of no effect."
"Pray who is this gentleman?" demanded the king, in a stern tone. "By your showing, madam, he has acted bitterly wrong, and, unless some extenuations appear, he shall be most severely punished; nor shall that punishment be the less on account of his rank, distinction, and services, as he could neither plead ignorance, inexperience, nor folly."
The features of the Lord of Masseran relaxed into a dark smile; and the lady replied, "His name, sire, was once dear and familiar to me and mine—it is Bernard, baron de Rohan."