"Hush, sir!" exclaimed the king, sternly; "you speak of one of the honestest men in France;" and he held out his hand to Father Willand, who kissed it respectfully. "Would that we had many such!" the king went on: "for the men who tell truth in the cabinet as well as in the pulpit, are those that are very needful here: albeit," he added, with a smile, "they may occasionally, in their hatred of hypocrites and knaves, give their tongue some license, and their conduct too. However, my good father, you will never be wise, so that I fear some day I shall have to make you a bishop, merely to keep you out of the way of strong fists and crabsticks. Now let us turn to the case of this young lady. The page told me, fair one, that you were anxious to see me immediately. What is it you would have?"
"Protection, sire," replied Isabel de Brienne, raising her fair face towards the king, filled with an expression of deep and hopeless grief, which touched the kind heart of the monarch, and made his tone even more kindly than it was before as he replied,
"And you shall have it, lady. But let me hear how it is that protection is needed: have you not a mother and a brother to protect and help you?"
"Alas! sire," replied Isabel of Brienne, "my mother is no more my father's wife nor my father's widow. She is now the wife of one to whose will she shows all dutiful obedience; but unto me the mother's care and tenderness are at an end."
"Fair lady," said the king, "the time that I can spare you is but short, and it may save you both trouble and grief, and, perhaps, from one cause or another, may likewise spare you a blush, if I tell you that I know the past. Lest you should suspect that my ears have been wronged and your conduct falsely told, the brief history of the facts is this: You have loved and been beloved by a very gallant gentleman, one who has served his king and country well and faithfully; and your mother, not holding him as dearly and highly as we may do or you have done, has opposed your marriage with the man of your choice, and endeavoured, as far as may be, to separate you from him. He, in the somewhat indiscreet eagerness of love, persuaded you, it would seem, to fly with him secretly, and unite your fate to his by a clandestine marriage, which, upon every principle of law and reason, must be null and void. However, at the very altar, I am told, your worthy stepfather here present surprised and separated you from this bold gentleman, took means to ensure that you should not meet again, and was bringing or sending you to Paris, when you contrived to escape. Thus far we know; what is there more? The tale that we have heard is very simple."
As the king ended, he looked round with a slight smile, which certainly might be interpreted either "This matter is very clear," or else "I know there is another version."
The person who answered it first, however, was the good priest. "That is the story, sire," he said. "'Tis a most excellent piece of goods, but smells somewhat of the manufacturer."
"How so, sir? But let the lady speak, and say if this be true or not."
"True, sire," replied Isabel de Brienne, much to the surprise of the Lord of Masseran. "It is all true; but there is much besides to be said, and some things which I must say, but which, perhaps, I cannot prove, especially now, when deep grief masters me. As your majesty has said—and no blush will stain my cheek while I do own it—I loved and was beloved by as noble a gentleman as ever graced this land; but I trust that I loved him wisely too, for to that love I have been plighted since my fifteenth year. My father—my good father, sire, who in times past has stricken in many a battle by your side, and also in many another well-fought field—joined my hand to his with promises which I, his daughter, was but too willing to fulfil. My mother, it is true, always looked somewhat coldly on him I loved, ever since he struck to the ground a base man, her intendant, for wronging an unprotected girl; but still my mother was present when we were plighted to each other; still she was present when my father, on his deathbed, made me promise that I would wed the man whom he had chosen. Oh, how willingly I promised! oh, how gladly I would have kept that promise! but they have rendered it vain;" and, unable to restrain herself, the tears burst forth, and she wept bitterly.
Henry had carried his eyes from her to the countenance of the Lord of Masseran from time to time while she spoke, and now, taking her hand kindly, he said, "Be comforted, dear lady, be comforted. This changes the matter greatly. What else have you to add?"