"Some one is coming. Count d'Auvergne!" Agnes was heard to say hastily. "Begone! leave me!--Never let me hear of this again! Begone, sir, I beg!"
"Unclasp me," cried the king, struggling to free himself from Guerin's hold. "Thou knew'st it too, vile confidant! Base betrayer of your sovereign's honour!--Unclasp me, or, by Heaven! you die as you kneel!--Away! I say!" and, drawing his sword, he raised his arm over the hospitaller's head.
"Strike, sire!" cried Guerin undauntedly, clasping the monarch's knees still more firmly in his arms--"strike your faithful servant! His blood is yours--take it! You cannot wound his heart more deeply with your weapon, than you have done with your words--Strike! I am unarmed; but here will I lie, between you and your mad passion, till you have time to think what it is to slay a guest, whom you yourself invited, in your own halls--before you know whether he be guilty or not."
"Free me, Guerin!" said Philip more calmly, but still with bitter sternness. "Free me, I say! I am the king once more! Nay, hold not by my haubert, man!"
Guerin rose, saying, "I beseech you, sire, consider! But Philip put him aside with a strong arm; and, passing over the bridge, entered the garden by the postern gate.
"Now, God forgive us all, if we have done amiss in this matter; and surely if I have inflicted pain, it has not been without suffering it too." Such was the reflection of the good bishop of Senlis, when left by Philip; but although his heart was deeply wrung to see the agony of a man he loved, and to be thereof even a promoter, he was not one to waste his moments in fruitless regrets; and, passing through the postern, which the king had neglected to shut, he proceeded, as fast as possible, towards the castle, in order to govern the circumstances, and moderate Philip's wrath, as much as the power of man might do.
In the mean while, Philip had entered the garden with his sword drawn, and passing through the formal rows of flowering shrubs, which was the taste of that day, he stood for an instant at the top of the large square of ground which lay between him and the castle. Half the way down on the left side, his eye caught the form of Agnes de Meranie; but she was alone, save inasmuch as two of her ladies, following at about a hundred yards' distance, could be said to keep her company. Without turning towards her, Philip passed through a long arcade of trellis-work which ran along the wall to the right, and, with a pace of light, made his way to the castle.
On the steps he paused, replaced his sword in the sheath, and, passing through one of the lesser towers, in a minute after stood in the midst of the great hall. The men-at-arms started up from their various occupations and amusements, and stood marvelling at the unannounced coming of the king; more than one of them taxing themselves internally with some undisclosed fault, and wondering if this unusual visitation portended a reproof.
"Has the Count d'Auvergne been seen?" demanded Philip in a tone which he meant to be calm, but which, though sufficiently rigid--if such a term may be applied to sound--still betrayed more agitation than he imagined--"Has the Count d'Auvergne been seen?"
"He passed but this instant, sire," replied one of the serjeants, "with a page habited in green, who has been searching for him this hour."