Gallon the fool--though we left him last at the top of one of the highest oaks in the wood, whither he had carried, piece by piece, the rich armour he had stripped from Guillaume de la Roche Guyon, together with a well-lined pouch of chamois leather--had since taken care to rejoin the victorious party, with all his acquirements nicely bundled up on the crupper of his horse, forming a square not unlike the pack with which wandering minstrels travelled in those days.
On the road he was very still and thoughtful. Whether it was that he was calculating in silence the value of his plunder, or that he was sullen from fatigue, his companions could not well tell, but when the party stopped, Gallon watched his opportunity, when De Coucy was alone, gazing at the pale moon, and indulging in such dreams as moonlight only yields. Stealing up to his lord, the juggler peered cunningly in his face, saying in a low voice, "Oh, Coucy! Coucy! I could show you such a trick for taming a lion;" and at the same time he bent his thumb back over his shoulder, pointing to where the monarch stood at a few yards' distance.
"Silence, fool!" said the knight, in a deep stern voice, adding, a moment afterwards, "What mean you, Gallon?"
"Did you not hear him cry, 'Denis Mountjoy! Denis Mountjoy!' when he joined the fight?" demanded Gallon.--"Coucy, Coucy! you might tame a lion, an' you would!"
De Coucy caught Gallon by the arm, and whispered in his ear a stern menace if he kept not silence. After which he turned at once to the king, saying aloud, "We had better to horse, fair sir, or it will be late ere we reach the city."
"Haw, haw!" shouted Gallon,--"Haw, haw!" and bounding away, he was the first in the saddle.
When they were within sight of Paris, the king thanked De Coucy for the pleasure of his fair company; and, saying that they should doubtless soon meet at the court, he took leave of the young knight, as if his road lay in somewhat a different direction, and rode on, his horse putting forth all his speed to reach the well-known stable. The young knight followed more slowly; and, proceeding across the bridge, directed his steps to the palace on the island.
In the court he found a crowd of inferior ecclesiastics, with robes, and stoles, and crosses, and banners, and all the pompous display of Romish magnificence, mingled with the king's serjeants-at-arms, and many a long train of retainers belonging to several of the great vassals of the crown, who seemed to be at that moment at the court. The young knight dismounted in the midst of them, and sent in to crave an audience of the king, giving his business, as it well deserved, the character of important.
A reply was soon returned, purporting that Sir Guy de Coucy was ever welcome to the king of France, and the knight was instantly marshalled to the presence-chamber.
Philip stood at the further extremity of the magnificent Gothic hall, a part of which still remains in the old palace of the kings of France. He was habited in a wide tunic of rich purple silk, bound round his waist by a belt of gold, from which hung his sword of state. The neck and sleeves were tied with gold, and from his shoulders descended a mantle of crimson sendal, lined throughout with ermines, which fell in broad and glossy folds upon the floor. On his head he wore a jewelled cap of crimson velvet, from under which the glossy waves of his long fair hair fell down in some disarray upon his shoulders. In any other man, the haste with which he had changed his apparel would have appeared; but Philip, in person even, was formed to be a king; and, in the easy grace of his figure, and the dignified erectness of his carriage, hurry or negligence of dress was never seen; or appeared but to display the innate majesty of his demeanour to greater advantage.