all he said,
"and by Saint Andrew, end the matter as it will, I will not fail him at
this pinch."

What has taken some time to narrate, happened, in fact, with the speed
of light; for so soon as the Duke assumed his threatening posture,
Crawford had thrown himself betwixt him and the object of his vengeance;
and the French gentlemen, drawing together as fast as they could, were
crowding to the same point.

The Duke of Burgundy still remained with his hand on his sword, and
seemed in the act of giving the signal for a general onset, which
must necessarily have ended in the massacre of the weaker party, when
Crevecoeur rushed forward, and exclaimed in a voice like a trumpet, "My
liege Lord of Burgundy, beware what you do! This is your hall--you are
the King's vassal--do not spill the blood of your guest on your hearth,
the blood of your Sovereign on the throne you have erected for him,
and to which he came under your safeguard. For the sake of your house's
honour, do not attempt to revenge one horrid murder by another yet
worse!"

"Out of my road, Crevecoeur," answered the Duke, "and let my vengeance
pass!--Out of my path! The wrath of kings is to be dreaded like that of
Heaven."

"Only when, like that of Heaven, it is just," answered Crevecoeur
firmly. "Let me pray of you, my lord, to rein the violence of your
temper, however justly offended.--And for you, my Lords of France, where
resistance is unavailing, let me recommend you to forbear whatever may
lead towards bloodshed."

"He is right," said Louis, whose coolness forsook him not in that
dreadful moment, and who easily foresaw that if a brawl should commence,
more violence would be dared and done in the heat of blood than was
likely to be attempted if peace were preserved.

"My cousin Orleans--kind Dunois--and you, my trusty Crawford--bring not
on ruin and bloodshed by taking offence too hastily. Our cousin the Duke
is chafed at the tidings of the death of a near and loving friend,
the venerable Bishop of Liege, whose slaughter we lament as he does.
Ancient, and, unhappily, recent subjects of jealousy lead him to suspect
us of having abetted a crime which our bosom abhors. Should our host
murder us on this spot--us, his King and his kinsman, under a false
impression of our being accessory to this unhappy accident, our fate
will be little lightened, but, on the contrary, greatly aggravated, by
your stirring.--Therefore stand back, Crawford.--Were it my last wo