"Fear not, noble lady," said Quentin, sorrowfully; "it is not here that I can forget the distance which fate has placed between us, or expose you to the censure of your proud kindred, as the object of the most devoted love to one, poorer and less powerful – not perhaps less noble than themselves. Let that pass like a dream of the night to all but one bosom, where, dream as it is, it will fill up the room of all existing realities."
"Hush! hush!" said Isabelle; "for your own sake, – for mine, – be silent on such a theme. Tell me rather what it is you have to ask of me."
"Forgiveness to one," replied Quentin, "who, for his own selfish views, hath conducted himself as your enemy."
"I trust I forgive all my enemies," answered Isabelle; "but oh, Durward! through what scenes have your courage and presence of mind protected me! – Yonder bloody hall – the good Bishop – I knew not till yesterday half the horrors I had unconsciously witnessed!"
"Do not think on them," said Quentin, who saw the transient colour which had come to her cheek during their conference, fast fading into the most deadly paleness – "Do not look back, but look steadily forward, as they needs must who walk in a perilous road. Hearken to me. King Louis deserves nothing better at your hand, of all others, than to be proclaimed the wily and insidious politician, which he really is. But to tax him as the encourager of your flight – still more as the author of a plan to throw you into the hands of De la Marck – will at this moment produce perhaps the King's death or dethronement; and, at all events, the most bloody war between France and Burgundy which the two countries have ever been engaged in."
"These evils shall not arrive for my sake, if they can be prevented," said the Countess Isabelle; "and indeed your slightest request were enough to make me forego my revenge, were that at any time a passion which I deeply cherish. Is it possible I would rather remember King Louis's injuries, than your invaluable services? – Yet how is this to be? – When I am called before my Sovereign, the Duke of Burgundy, I must either stand silent, or speak the truth. The former would be contumacy; and to a false tale you will not desire me to train my tongue."
"Surely not," said Durward; "but let your evidence concerning Louis be confined to what you yourself positively know to be truth; and when you mention what others have reported, no matter how credibly, let it be as reports only, and beware of pledging your own personal evidence to that, which, though you may fully believe, you cannot personally know to be true. The assembled Council of Burgundy cannot refuse to a Monarch the justice, which in my country is rendered to the meanest person under accusation. They must esteem him innocent, until direct and sufficient proof shall demonstrate this guilt. Now, what does not consist with your own certain knowledge, should be proved by other evidence than your report from hearsay."
"I think I understand you," said the Countess Isabelle.
"I will make my meaning plainer," said Quentin; and was illustrating it accordingly by more than one instance, when the convent-bell tolled.
"That," said the Countess, "is a signal that we must part – part for ever! – But do not forget me, Durward; I will never forget you – your faithful services" –
She could not speak more, but again extended her hand, which was again pressed to his lips; and I know not how it was, that, in endeavouring to withdraw her hand, the Countess came so close to the grating, that Quentin was encouraged to press the adieu on her lips. The young lady did not chide him – perhaps there was no time; for Crèvecoeur and Crawford, who had been from some loophole eye-witnesses, if not ear-witnesses also, of what was passing, rushed into the apartment, the first in a towering passion, the latter laughing, and holding the Count back.
"To your chamber, young mistress – to your chamber!" exclaimed the Count to Isabelle, who, flinging down her veil, retired in all haste, – "which should be exchanged for a cell, and bread and water. – And you, gentle sir, who are so malapert, the time will come when the interests of kings and kingdoms may not be connected with such as you are; and you shall then learn the penalty of your audacity in raising your beggarly eyes" –
"Hush! hush! – enough said – rein up – rein up," said the old Lord; – "and you, Quentin, I command you, be silent, and begone to your quarters. – There is no such room for so much scorn neither, Sir Count of Crèvecoeur, that I must say now he is out of hearing – Quentin Durward is as much a gentleman as the King, only, as the Spaniard says, not so rich. He is as noble as myself, and I am chief of my name. Tush, tush! man, you must not speak to us of penalties."
"My lord, my lord," said Crèvecoeur, impatiently, "the insolence of these foreign mercenaries is proverbial, and should receive rather rebuke than encouragement from you, who are their leader."
"My Lord Count," answered Crawford, "I have ordered my command for these fifty years, without advice either from Frenchman or Burgundian; and I intend to do so, under your favour, so long as I shall continue to hold it."
"Well, well, my lord," said Crèvecoeur, "I meant you no disrespect; your nobleness, as well as your age, entitle you to be privileged in your impatience; and for these young people, I am satisfied to overlook the past, since I will take care that they never meet again."
"Do not take that upon your salvation, Crèvecoeur," said the old Lord, laughing; "mountains, it is said, may meet, and why not mortal creatures that have legs, and life and love to put those legs in motion? You kiss, Crèvecoeur, came tenderly off – methinks it was ominous."
"You are striving again to disturb my patience," said Crèvecoeur, "but I will not give you that advantage over me. – Hark! they toll the summons to the Castle – an awful meeting, of which God only can foretell the issue."
"This issue I can foretell," said the old Scottish Lord, "that if violence is to be offered to the person of the King, few as his friends are, and surrounded by his enemies, he shall neither fall alone nor unavenged; and grieved I am, that his own positive orders have prevented my taking measures to prepare for such an issue."
"My Lord of Crawford," said the Burgundian, "to anticipate such evil is the sure way to give occasion to it. Obey the orders of your royal master, and give no pretext for violence by taking hasty offence, and you will find that the day will pass over more smoothly than you now conjecture."
CHAPTER XV. THE INVESTIGATION.
Me rather had, my heart might feel your love,
Than my displeased eye see your courtesy.
Up, cousin, up – your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at least – although your knee –
At the first toll of the bell, which was to summon the great nobles of Burgundy together in council, with the very few French peers who could be present on the occasion, Duke Charles, followed by a part of his train, armed with partisans and battle-axes, entered the Hall of Herbert's Tower, in the Castle of Peronne. King Louis, who had expected the visit, arose and made two steps towards the Duke, and then remained standing with an air of dignity, which, in spite of the meanness of his dress, and the familiarity of his ordinary manners, he knew very well how to assume when he judged it necessary. Upon the present important crisis, the composure of his demeanour had an evident effect upon his rival, who changed the abrupt and hasty step with which he entered the apartment, into one more becoming a great vassal entering the presence of his Lord Paramount. Apparently the Duke had formed the internal resolution to treat Louis, in the outset at least, with the formalities due to his high station; but at the same time it was evident, that, in doing so, he put no small constraint upon the fiery impatience of his own disposition, and was scarce able to control the feelings of resentment, and the thirst of revenge, which boiled in his bosom. Hence, though he compelled himself to use the outward acts, and in some degree the language, of courtesy and reverence, his colour came and went rapidly – his voice was abrupt, hoarse, and broken – his limbs shook, as if impatient of the curb imposed on his motions – he frowned and bit his lip until the blood came – and every look and movement showed that the most passionate prince who ever lived, was under the dominion of one of his most violent paroxysms of fury.