his sister of the Vicomte do
Montbrison a girl of obdurate virtue, he had prefaced the action by
marriage."

"And what have I to do with all this?" said Edward Maudelain.

Gloucester retorted: "More than you think. For she 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--sire."

He spoke with a stifled voice, and wrenching forth each sentence; and
now with a stiff forefinger flipped a paper across the table. "_In
extremis_ my brother did far more than confess. He signed--your
Grace," 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 ever 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. "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 the titular Queen?"

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

And 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 yourself
should wed Dame Anne, once the Apostolic See has granted the necessary
dispensation. Treading too close upon the impendent death of our
nominal lord the so-called King, the foreign war perhaps necessitated
by her exile would be highly inconvenient."

The