Isabeau had previously poisoned her two elder sons; I might here trace
out a curious similitude between the Valois and that dragon-spawned
race which Jason very anciently slew at Colchis, since the world was
never at peace so long as any two of them existed: but King Charles
greeted his daughter with ampler deference, esteeming her Presbyter
John's wife, the tyrant of Ethiopia. However, ingenuity had just
suggested card-playing for his amusement, and he paid little attention
nowadays to any one save his opponent.

So the French King chirped his senile jests over the card-table, while
the King of England was besieging the French city of Rouen sedulously
and without mercy. In late autumn an armament from Ireland joined
Henry's forces. The Irish fought naked, it was said, with long knives.
Katharine heard discreditable tales of these Irish, and reflected how
gross are the exaggerations of rumor.

In the year of grace 1419, in January, the burgesses of Rouen, having
consumed their horses, and finding frogs and rats unpalatable, yielded
the town. It was the Queen-Regent who brought the news to Katharine.

"God is asleep," the Queen said; "and while He nods, the Butcher of
Agincourt has stolen our good city of Rouen." She sat down and
breathed heavily. "Never was poor woman so pestered as I! The
puddings to-day were quite uneatable, and on Sunday the Englishman
entered Rouen in great splendor, attended by his chief nobles; but the
Butcher rode alone, and before him went a page carrying a fox-brush on
the point of his lance. I put it to you, is that the contrivance of a
sane man? Euh! euh!" Dame Isabeau squealed on a sudden; "you are
bruising me."

Katharine had gripped her by the shoulder. "The King of England--a
tall, fair man? with big teeth? a tiny wen upon his neck--here--and
with his left cheek scarred? with blue eyes, very bright, bright as
tapers?" She poured out her questions in a torrent, and awaited the
answer, seeming not to breathe at all.

"I believe so," the Queen said.

"O God!" said Katharine.

"Ay, our only hope now. And may God show him no more mercy than he has
shown us!" the good lady desired, with fervor. "The hog, having won
our Normandy, is now advancing on Paris itself. He repudiated the
Aragonish alliance last August; and until last August he was content
with Normandy, they tell us, but now he swears to win all France. The
man is a madman, and Scythian Tamburlaine was more lenie