h hunger unfulfilled._

"_O Love, that art stronger than we,
Albeit not lightly stilled,
Thou art less cruel than she._"

Malise came hastily into the room, and, without speaking, laid a
fox-brush before the Princess.

Katharine twirled it in her hand, staring at the card-littered table.
"So you are in his pay, Malise? I am sorry. But you know that your
employer is master here. Who am I to forbid him entrance?" The girl
went away silently, abashed, and the Princess sat quite still, tapping
the brush against the table.

"They do not want me to sign another treaty, do they?" her father asked
timidly. "It appears to me they are always signing treaties, and I
cannot see that any good comes of it. And I would have won the last
game, Katharine, if Malise had not interrupted us. You know I would
have won."

"Yes, father, you would have won. Oh, he must not see you!" Katharine
cried, a great tide of love mounting in her breast, the love that draws
a mother fiercely to shield her backward boy. "Father, will you not go
into your chamber? I have a new book for you, father--all pictures,
dear. Come--" She was coaxing him when Henry appeared in the doorway.

"But I do not wish to look at pictures," Charles said, peevishly; "I
wish to play cards. You are an ungrateful daughter, Katharine. You
are never willing to amuse me." He sat down with a whimper and began
to pinch at his dribbling lips.

Katharine had moved a little toward the door. Her face was white.
"Now welcome, sire!" she said. "Welcome, O great conqueror, who in
your hour of triumph can find no nobler recreation than to shame a maid
with her past folly! It was valorously done, sire. See, father; here
is the King of England come to observe how low we sit that yesterday
were lords of France."

"The King of England!" echoed Charles, and rose now to his feet. "I
thought we were at war with him. But my memory is treacherous. You
perceive, brother of England, I am planning a new mouse-trap, and my
mind is somewhat preempted. I recall now you are in treaty for my
daughter's hand. Katharine is a good girl, messire, but I suppose--"
He paused, as if to regard and hear some insensible counsellor, and
then briskly resumed: "Yes, I suppose policy demands that she should
marry you. We trammelled kings can never go free of policy--ey, my
compere of England? No; it was through policy I wedded her mother; and
we have been very unhappy, Isabea