“It is too late,” said François. “He can do me no good now. I have lost all hope. Look here,” he added, taking a paper from beneath the cushion on which he was reclining, “this is an act by which I renounce the crown of France, and place it in the hands of the Dauphin, exhorting my family and my people to regard me as dead—and most likely I shall be dead ere this act can be delivered to my son.”
“I shall not need to take it,” she rejoined. “I am persuaded you will now be able to make terms with the Emperor.”
“I will rather die than submit to his conditions,” rejoined the king.
“Hear me, François,” she said, “and do not think the course I am about to suggest unworthy of you. You must be delivered from this prison at any price.”
“Not at the price of my honour, Marguerite,” he cried. “You cannot counsel that?”
“You must dissemble with the tyrant, brother,” she rejoined. “You must beat him with his own weapons. A treaty signed in prison cannot be binding on you. The circumstances render it invalid. Promise all the Emperor asks—but perform only what is reasonable and just.
“I must perform all I promise,” said François,
“No,” she rejoined. “You are justified in deceiving a pitiless conqueror who abuses his position. France will absolve you.”
At this moment, the door was thrown open and gave admittance to the Emperor, who was attended by Bourbon, Lannoy, and Gattinara.
Charles V. paused near the door to look at his prisoner, and was sensibly touched by his altered appearance.