“Honored mother of my dead husband, I shall never cease to mourn for Geoffrey; but you very well know that princesses have no time to abandon themselves to grief. But come and participate in our feast. You will find worthy guests here, messengers from the King of France.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the astonished Queen, as she recognized Count Gragny, who with the others advanced and bowed low. “Have you settled matters so far as to throw yourself already into the arms of Philip Augustus, even before you have taken the trouble to ascertain the policy of the King of England?”
“Although I have received no answer to my message to England,” said the Duchess, “I doubt not that King Henry will approve my action in securing the good-will of our powerful neighbor and seeking his protection for my son, the Duke of Brittany.”
“Let me see the child,” replied Eleanor. As she noticed Constance looking inquiringly at Höel, she added: “Why do you hesitate? Have you any reason for concealing him from me?”
Höel went at once to notify Bertha, and when the Queen entered the chamber with Count Gragny and several other knights, all gathered about the cradle in which the child was lying. Eleanor gave one glance at the little Duke and then turned again to Constance. “I advise you to give up your game. I shall never recognize this boy as Geoffrey’s heir. Content yourself with your paternal possessions in Brittany, which I shall never enter again.”
“What do you mean, Your Majesty?” exclaimed Constance, with increasing emotion.
“I mean that the heir came very suddenly, and when he was greatly needed,” said Eleanor. “Who knows in what hut he was born and found?”
“This is monstrous!” interrupted Constance. “How dare you impute such a disgraceful thing to me, and insult me in my most sacred relations? Go! Only one who can invent such a story is capable of such action. You have a wicked heart!”
“Enough,” said the Queen. “See to it that you and your child do not come in my way, otherwise woe to him and to you.” As she said this she made a threatening gesture with her hand at the child.
Little Alan, who had been standing by his mother’s side, darted forward and, seizing the Queen’s arm, cried out in his shrill childish voice, “Don’t you touch the Duke!”