He took the child in his arms and swung her on to the crupper of his saddle. Then, dashing the spurs into his charger’s flanks, he set off at a gallop for Saint-Malo, where he placed the little heiress in a convent, with the object of marrying her when she had arrived at the age of fourteen.
Years afterward Fontenelle and the heiress, who was now his wife, went to live at their manor of Coadelan. They had a little child beautiful as the day, who greatly resembled his father. One day a letter arrived for the Seigneur, calling upon him to betake himself to Paris at once. His wife was inconsolable.
“Do not set forth alone for Paris, I pray you,” she said, “for if you do I shall instantly follow you. Remain at home, I beg of you, and I will send a messenger in your stead. In the name of God, do not go, husband, for if you do you will never return.”
But Fontenelle disregarded his wife’s entreaties, and, begging her to take good care of their son during his absence, set forth on his journey to the capital. In due time he arrived in Paris and stood before the King and Queen. He greeted them courteously, but they looked coldly on him, and the King told him bluntly that he should not return to Coadelan, adding: “There are sufficient chains in my palace to restrain you.”
On hearing this Fontenelle called his little page and begged him to return at once to his mistress and tell her to discard her finery, because she would soon be a widow, and to bring him back a coarse shirt and a white sheet, and, moreover, to bring a gold plate on which his enemies might expose his head after his death.
“And, little page,” he added, “take a lock of my hair and place it on the door of Coadelan, so that all men as they go to Mass may say, ‘God have mercy on the soul of Fontenelle.’”
The page did as he was bidden, but as for the plate of gold it was useless, for Fontenelle’s head was thrown on the pavement to serve as a ball for the children of the gutter.
All Paris was surprised when one day a lady from a distant country arrived and made great stir in its narrow streets. Every one asked his neighbour who this dame might be. It was the heiress of Coadelan, dressed in a flowing robe of green. “Alas!” said the pitiful burgesses, “if she knew what we know she would be dressed in black.” Shortly she stood before the King. “Sire,” said she, “give me back my husband, I beg of you.”