this?" said Edward Maudelain.

Gloucester retorted: "More than you think. For this Alixe was conveyed
to Chertsey, here in England, where at the year's end she died in
childbirth. A little before this time had Sir Thomas Holland seen his
last day,--the husband of that Joane of Kent whom throughout life my
brother loved most marvellously. The disposition of the late
Queen-Mother is tolerably well known. I make no comment save that to
her moulding my brother was as so much wax. In fine, the two lovers
were presently married, and their son reigns to-day in England. The
abandoned son of Alixe Riczi was reared by the Cistercians at
Chertsey, where some years ago I found you."

He spoke with a stifled voice, wrenching forth each sentence; and now
with a stiff forefinger flipped a paper across the table. "_In
extremis_ my brother did more than confess. He signed,--your Majesty,"
said Gloucester. The Duke on a sudden flung out his hands, like a
wizard whose necromancy fails, and the palms were bloodied where his
nails had cut the flesh.

"Moreover, my daughter was born at Sudbury," said the Duke of York.

And of Maudelain's face I cannot tell you. He made pretence to read
the paper carefully, but his eyes roved, and he knew that he stood
among wolves. The room was oddly shaped, with eight equal sides: the
ceiling was of a light and brilliant blue, powdered with many golden
stars, and the walls were hung with smart tapestries which
commemorated the exploits of Theseus. "Then I am King," this Maudelain
said aloud, "of France and England, and Lord of Ireland, and Duke of
Aquitaine! I perceive that Heaven loves a jest." He wheeled upon
Gloucester and spoke with singular irrelevance, "And what is to be
done with the present Queen?"

Again the Duke shrugged. "I had not thought of the dumb wench. We have
many convents."

Now Maudelain twisted the paper between his long, wet fingers and
appeared to meditate.

"It would be advisable, your Grace," observed the Earl of Derby,
suavely, and breaking his silence for the first time, "that you
yourself should wed Dame Anne, once the Apostolic See has granted the
necessary dispensation. Treading too close upon the fighting requisite
to bring about the dethronement and death of our nominal lord the
so-called King, a war with Bohemia, which would be only too apt to
follow this noble lady's assassination, would be highly inconvenient,
and, lacking that, we would have to pay back her dowry