gn's face, and 'A boon, fair sire!' he said. 'A
boon to your new man!'

'What now, Saint-Pol?' asked King Philip.

'Sire,' he said, 'my sister's marriage is in you. I beg you to give her
to Messire Gilles de Gurdun, a good knight of Normandy.'

'That is a poor marriage for her, Saint-Pol,' said the King,
considering, 'and a poor marriage for me, by Saint Mary. Why should I
enrich the King of England, with whom I am at war? You must give me
reason for that.'

'I will give you this reason,' said young Saint-Pol; 'it is because that
devil who slew my brother will have her else.'

King Philip said, 'Why, I can give her to one who will hold her fast.
Your Gurdun is a Norman, you say? Well, but Count Richard in a little
while will have him under his hand; and how are you served then?'

'I doubt, sire,' replied Saint-Pol. 'Moreover, there is this, if it
please you to hear it. When the Count of Poictou repudiated (as he most
villainously did) my sister, he himself gave her to Gurdun. But I fear
him, lest seeing her any other's he should take her again.'

'What is this, man?' asked King Philip.

'Sire, he writes letters to my sister that he is a free man, and she
keeps them by her and often reads them in secret. So she was caught but
lately by my lady aunt, reading one in bed.'

The King's brow grew very black, for though he knew that Richard would
never marry Madame, he did not choose (but resented) that any other
should know it. At this moment Montferrat came in, and stood by his
kinsman.

'Ah, sire,' said he, in those bloodhound tones of his, 'give us leave to
deal in this business with free hands.'

'What would you do in it, Marquess?' asked the King fretfully.

'Kill him, by God,' said the Marquess; and young Saint-Pol added, 'Give
us his life, O lord King.'

King Philip thought. He was fresh from making a treaty with Richard; but
that was in a war of requital only, and would be ended so soon as the
last drop had been drained from the old King. What would follow the war?
He was by this time cooler towards Richard, very much vexed at what he
had just heard; he could not help remembering that marriage with Alois
would have been the proper reply to scandalous report. Should he be
able, when the war was done, to squeeze Richard into marriage or an
equivalent in lands? He wondered, he doubted greatly. On the other hand,
if he and Richard could crush old Henry, and Saint-Pol afterwards bruise
Richard--why, what wa