o hear it
do as we must. But now you understand why I made an end of Saint-Pol,
and why, by heaven and earth, I will make an end of this brass pot.' He
turned upon Montferrat with his teeth bare. 'Conrad, Conrad, Conrad!' he
cried terribly, 'mark your goings about this slippery world; for if when
I get you alone I do not send you quick into hell, may I go down myself
beyond redemption of the Church!'

'That you will surely do, my lord,' says the Marquess of Montferrat,
greatly disturbed.

'If I get you there also I shall be reasonably entertained for a short
time,' Richard answered, already cooled and ashamed of his heat. Then
King Philip dismissed the Marquess, and as soon as he was rid of him
jumped into Richard's arms, and cried his heart away.

Richard, who was fond of the youth, comforted him as well as he was
able, but on one point was a rock. He would not hear the word 'marriage'
until he had seen the lady. 'Oh, Richard, marry her quick, marry her
quick! So we can face the world,' the young King had blubbered, thinking
that course the simplest answer to the affront upon his house. It did
not seem so simple to the Count, or (rather) it seemed too simple by
half. In his private mind he knew perfectly well that he could not marry
Madame Alois. So, for that matter, did King Philip by this time. 'I
must see Alois, Philip, I must see her alone,' was all Richard had to
say; and really it could not be gainsaid.

He went to her after proper warning, and saw the truth the moment he had
view of her. Then also he knew that he had really seen it before. That
white, furtive, creeping girl, from whose loose hair peered out a pair
of haunted eyes; that drooped thing backing against the wall, feeling
for it, flat against it, with open shocked mouth, astare but seeing
nothing: the whole truth flared before him monstrously naked. He loathed
the sight of her, but had to speak her smoothly.

'Princess--' he said, and came forward to touch her hand; but she
slipped away from him, crouching to the wall. The torment of breath in
her bosom was bad to see.

'Touch me not, Count of Poictou;' she whispered the words, and then
moaned, 'O God, what will become of me?'

'Madame,' said Richard, rather dry, 'God may answer your question, since
He knows all things, but certainly I cannot, unless you first tell me
what has hitherto become of you.'

She steadied herself by the wall, her palms flat upon it, and leaned her
body forward like