."

"And will the King," said Cunningham, "he being the Duke's feudal
sovereign, interfere between the Duke and his ward, over whom Charles
hath the same right, which, were he himself dead, the King would have
over the heiress of Burgundy?"

"The King will be ruled as he is wont, by rules of policy, and you
know," continued Crawford, "that he hath not publicly received these
ladies, nor placed them under the protection of his daughters, the Lady
of Beaujeu, or the Princess Joan, so, doubtless, he will be guided by
circumstances. He is our Master--but it is no treason to say, he
will chase with the hounds, and run with the hare, with any prince in
Christendom."

"But the Duke of Burgundy understands no such doubling;" said
Cunningham.

"No," answered the old Lord; "and, therefore, it is likely to make work
between them."

"Well--Saint Andrew further the fray!" said Le Balafre. "I had it
foretold me ten, ay, twenty years since, that I was to make the fortune
of my house by marriage. Who knows what may happen, if once we come to
fight for honour and ladies' love, as they do in the old romaunts."

"Thou name ladies' love, with such a trench in thy visage!" said
Guthrie.

"As well not love at all, as love a Bohemian woman of Heathenesse,"
retorted Le Balafre.

"Hold there, comrades," said Lord Crawford; "no tilting with sharp
weapons, no jesting with keen scoffs--friends all. And for the lady, she
is too wealthy to fall to a poor Scottish lord, or I would put in my own
claim, fourscore years and all, or not very far from it. But here is her
health, nevertheless, for they say she is a lamp of beauty."

"I think I saw her," said another soldier, "when I was upon guard this
morning at the inner barrier; but she was more like a dark lantern
than a lamp, for she and another were brought into the Chateau in close
litters."

"Shame! shame! Arnot!" said Lord Crawford; "a soldier on duty should
say naught of what he sees. Besides," he added after a pause, his own
curiosity prevailing over the show of discipline which he had thought
it necessary to exert, "why should these litters contain this very same
Countess Isabelle de Croye?"

"Nay, my Lord," replied Arnot, "I know nothing of it save this, that my
coutelier was airing my horses in the road to the village, and fell in
with Doguin the muleteer, who brought back the litters to the inn, for
they belong to the fellow of the Mulberry Grove yonder--he of the Fleur
de Ly