It was two hours after noon when a party of De la Marck’s banditti appeared, and shortly after a body of men-at-arms under a knight’s pennon.  The former were soon put to rout by the superiority of the latter, whose banner Countess Isabelle recognised as that of the Count of Crevecoeur, a noble Burgundian.

“Noble Count!” said Isabelle, as Crevecoeur gazed on her with doubt and uncertainty, “Isabelle of Croye, the daughter of your old companion in arms, Count Reinold of Croye, renders herself, and asks protection from your valour for her and hers.”

“Thou shalt have it, fair kinswoman, were it against a host,” said Crevecoeur.  “This is a rough welcome to your home, my pretty cousin, but you and your foolish match-making aunt have made such wild use of your wings of late, that I fear you must be contented to fold them up in a cage for a little while.  For my part, my duty will be ended when I have conducted you to the court of the Duke, at Peronne.”

III.—­A Prize for Honour

The king had ventured, with a small company of his Scottish archers, to be his own ambassador to his troublesome subject the Duke of Burgundy, and Louis and Charles were together at Peronne when the news of the revolt at Liege was brought to them by Crevecoeur, under whose escort the Countess Isabelle returned to the protection of her suzerain.

The Countess was lodged in the Convent of the Ursulines, and with the Lady Abbess and the Countess of Crevecoeur attended the presence of the Duke.

In vain Charles stormed and swore that she should marry whom he would.

“My lord,” she replied, undismayed, “if you deprive me of my lands, you take away all that your ancestors’ generosity gave, and you break the only bonds which attach us together.  You cannot dispose the hand of any gentlewoman by force.”

The Duke, with a furious glance, turned to his secretary.

“Write,” he said, “our doom of forfeiture and imprisonment against this disobedient and insolent minion!  She shall to the penitentiary, to herd with those whose lives have rendered them her rivals in effrontery!”

There was a general murmur.

“My Lord Duke,” said Crevecoeur, “this must be better thought on.  We, your faithful vassals, cannot suffer dishonour to the nobility and chivalry of Burgundy.  If the Countess hath done amiss, let her be punished—­but in the manner that becomes her rank and ours, who stand connected with her house.”

The Duke paused for a moment, and looked full at his counsellor with the stare of a bull.  Prudence, however, prevailed over fury, he saw the sentiment was general in his council, and, being rather of a coarse and violent, than of a malignant temper—­felt ashamed of his own dishonourable proposal.

“You are right, Crevecoeur,” he said, “and I spoke hastily.  Her fate shall be determined according to the rules of chivalry.  Her flight to Liege hath given the signal for the bishop’s murder.  He that best avenges that deed, and brings us the head of the Wild Boar of Ardennes, shall claim her hand of us; and, if she denies his right, we can at least grant him her lands, leaving it to his generosity to allow her what means he will to retire into a convent.”