"Well! well!" cried Gallon, ever willing to say any thing that he thought might alarm, or mortify, or pain his hearers. "I went first, beau sire, to inquire of a dear friend of mine, at the palace--who fell in love with me, because, and on account of, the simple beauty and grace of my snout--whether it be true, that Philip the Magnificent had taken actual possession of the lands of your aunt's husband, the Count de Tankerville; and I find he has, and called in all the revenues to the royal treasury. Oh! 'tis a great king and an expeditious!--Haw, haw, haw!" and though within reach of the young knight's arm. Gallon the fool could not repress his glee at the sight of a slight shade of natural mortification that came over his lord's countenance.
"Let him," cried De Coucy,--"let him take them all! I would rather that he had them than the duke of Burgundy. Better they should go to strengthen a good king, than to nourish a fat and overgrown vassal.--But you escape me not so, sir Gallon! You said you went on the road to Compiègne to see how the wolf looked, in the sheepfold! Translate, sir fool! Translate! What meant you?"
"Simply to see Count Thibalt d'Auvergne and Queen Agnes de Meranie," replied the jongleur.--"Haw, haw!--Is there any harm in that?"
De Coucy started, as if some one had struck him, experiencing that sort of astonishment which one feels, when suddenly some fact, to which we have long shut our eyes, breaks upon us at once, in all the sharpness of self-evidency--if one may use the word. "'Tis impossible!" cried he. "It cannot be! 'Tis not to be believed!"
"Haw, haw, haw!" cried Gallon the fool. "Not to be doubted, beau sire De Coucy!--Did he not join your good knighthood as blithe and merry as a lark, after having spent some three months at the court of Istria and Moravia?--Did he not go on well and gaily, till the news came that Philip of France had wedded Agnes de Meranie?--Then did he not, in your own tent, turn paler than the canvass that covered him?--And did he not thenceforth wax wan and lack-witted, sick and sorrowful?--Ha, haw? Ha, haw!"
"Cease thy grinning, knave!" cried De Coucy sharply, "and know, that even if he does love the queen, 'tis in all honour and honesty; as one may dedicate one's heart and soul, one's lance and song, to the greatest princess on all the earth, without dreaming aught to her dishonour."
"Haw, haw, haw! haw, haw!" was all the answer of Gallon the fool; and darting away from the relaxed grasp of De Coucy, on whose brow he saw clearly a gathering storm, he rushed down, shouting "Haw, haw! haw, haw!" with as keen an accent of triumph, as if he had gained a victory.
"Is it possible?" said the knight to himself, "that I have been blind for nearly two years to what has been discovered by an idiot on the instant? God bless us all, and the holy saints!--D'Auvergne! D'Auvergne! I pity thee, from my soul! for where thou hast loved, and loved so fair a creature, there wilt thou still love, till the death. Nor art thou a man to seek to quench thy love in thy lady's dishonour--to learn to gratify thy passion and to despise its object, as some men would. Here thy very nobleness, like plumes to the ostrich, is thy bane and not thy help. And Philip too. If e'er a king was born to be jealous, he is the man. I would not for a dukedom love so hopelessly. However, D'Auvergne, I will be near thee--near to thy dangers, though not to thy wealth."
At this point, the contemplations of De Coucy were interrupted by the return of Hugo de Barre, his squire, informing him that the horses were ready; and at the same time laying down on the table before his lord a small leathern bag, apparently full of money.
"What is that?" demanded De Coucy.