"He said, madam, that as the pope assured him, on his apostolic truth, that the marriage never could be rendered valid," continued the count; "and farther, that the realm of France must be put in interdict--for the interdict, madam, had not been then pronounced; and Celestin, a far milder judge than the present, sat in the chair of St. Peter;--he said, that as this was the case, and as the daughter of the duke of Meranie was not formed to be an object of discord between a king and a Christian prelate, he begged, and conjured, and commanded you to withdraw yourself from an alliance that he now considered as disgraceful as it had formerly appeared honourable; and to return to your father's court, and the arms of your family, where, you well know, he said, that domestic love and parental affection would endeavour to wipe out from your heart the memory of disappointments and sorrows brought on you by no fault of your own."
"And such, indeed, was my father's command and message?" said the queen, in a tone of deep affliction.
"Such, indeed, it was, lady," replied the count D'Auvergne, "and he bade me, farther, entreat and conjure you, by all that is dear and sacred between parent and child, not to neglect his counsel and disobey his commands. He said moreover that he knew----" and Thibalt d'Auvergne's lip quivered as if the agony of death was struggling in his heart--"he said that he knew how fondly you loved the noble king your husband, and how hard it would be to tear yourself from him. But he begged you to remember that your house's honour was at stake, and not to shrink from your duty."
"Sir count," said Agnes, in a voice that faltered with emotion, "he, nor no one else, can tell how I love my husband--how deeply--how fondly--how devotedly. Yet that should not stay me; for though I would as soon tear out my heart, and trample it under my own feet, as quit him, yet I would do it, if my honour and my duty bade me go. But my honour and my duty bid me stay----" She paused, and thoughtfully followed the direction of the walk, clasping her small hands together, and bending down her eyes, as one whose mind, unaccustomed to decide between contending arguments, is bewildered by number and reiteration, but not convinced. She thus advanced some way in the turn towards the castle, and then added--"Besides, even if I would, how could I quit my husband's house and territories? How could I return to Istria without his will?"
"That difficulty, madam, I would smooth for you or die," replied the count. "The troops of Auvergne could and should protect you."
"The troops of Auvergne against Philip of France!" exclaimed Agnes, raising her voice, while her eye flashed with an unwonted fire, and her lip curled with a touch of scorn. "And doubtless the Count d'Auvergne to head them, and defend the truant wife against her angry husband!"
"You do me wrong, lady," replied D'Auvergne calmly--"you do me wrong. The Count d'Auvergne is boon for other lands. Nor would he do one act for worlds, that could, even in the ill-judging eyes of men, cast a shade over the fame and honour of one----" He paused, and broke off his sentence, adding--"But no more of that--lady, you do me wrong. I did but deem, that, accompanied by your own holy confessor, and what other prelates or clergymen you would, a thousand of my armed vassals might convey you safely to the court of your father, while I, bound by a holy vow, should take shipping at Marseilles, and never set my foot on shore till I might plant it on the burning sands of Palestine.--Lady, may this be?"
"No, lord count, no!"--replied Agnes, her indignation at any one dreaming of opposing the god of her idolatry still unsubdued, "it cannot, nor it must not be! Did I seek Istria at all, I would rather don a pilgrim's weeds, and beg my way thither on foot. But I seek it not, my lord--I never will seek it. Philip is my husband--France is my land. The bishops of this realm have freed, by their united decree, their king from all other engagement than that to me; and so long as he himself shall look upon that engagement as valid, I will not doubt its firmness and its truth."
"I have then discharged me of my unpleasant duty, lady," said the Count d'Auvergne. "My task is accomplished, and my promise to your father fulfilled. Yet, that it may be well fulfilled, let me beg you once again to think of your father's commands; and knowing the nobleness of his nature, the clearness of his judgment, and the fearless integrity of his heart, think if he would have urged you to quit king Philip without he thought it your duty to do so."
"He judged as a father; I judge as a wife," replied Agnes. "I love my father--I would die for him; and, but to see him, I would sacrifice crown, and dignity, and wealth. Yet, once for all, beau sire d'Auvergne, urge me no more; for, notwithstanding all you can say--notwithstanding my own feelings in this respect, I must not--I cannot--I will not quit my husband. That name alone, my husband, were enough to bind me to him by every duty, and I will never quit him."