“But they were reconciled afterwards.”
“Yes, but his father’s confidence was not restored, and the others have been subjected to every kind of injustice. What lies Eleanor told about John, her youngest son! His father does not trust him, and has given him no possessions. To save himself from impoverishment he is casting covetous glances toward Brittany.”[7]
“Her father’s share to half the country cannot be taken away from her,” said Bertha.
“Not by right; but might knows no right. Perhaps, however, the jealousy between France and England, whose sovereigns will never permit their beautiful maritime provinces to go to another, may save us.”
“What is the name of the little Duke?” interrupted Alan, who had climbed upon his father’s knee.
“He is called Arthur.”
“Will he play with me?”
“Not yet, but perhaps later.”
After speedy preparations they departed; they reached the hunting-castle at evening, where they found the Duchess doing well. Bertha’s fears proved groundless. She was heartily welcomed by Constance, who was at that moment specially grateful for any expression of sympathy. The Duchess well knew that she could not place her son in better hands, and for the first time she felt free from anxiety when Bertha cradled him in her faithful arms. She cared alike for the two children; and Alan, far from being jealous because his mother shared her love between them, displayed the utmost tenderness to the little Duke.
Höel was now free to devote himself to the sad duty of burying the dead. A great concourse of knights, citizens, and ecclesiastics accompanied the body of the Duke to Rennes in an imposing procession, headed by Höel and the chaplain. All along the road they passed sorrowing people. Serious anxiety for the future filled all hearts, and sincere mourning followed the Duke to his grave.