[Illustration:  ’"Thou art betrayed."’——­26]

The men-at-arms hurried up immediately, and striking the hands of the fellow with the butts of their lances, made him let go the bridle.  As he had the appearance of a poor madman, and nothing more, he was allowed to go without any questioning, and he followed the king for nearly half an hour, repeating the same cry from a distance.  The king was much troubled at this sudden apparition; and his head, which was very weak, was quite turned by it.  Nevertheless the march was continued.  When the forest had been traversed, they came to a great sandy plain, where the rays of the sun were more scorching than ever.  One of the king’s pages, overcome by the heat, had fallen asleep, and the lance he carried fell against his helmet, and suddenly caused a loud clash of steel.

“The king shuddered; and then he was observed, rising in his stirrups, to draw his sword, touch his horse with the spur, and make a dash, crying, ‘Forward upon these traitors!  They would deliver me up to the enemy!’ Every one moved hastily aside, but not before some were wounded; it is even said that several were killed, among them a bastard of Polignac.  The king’s brother, the Duke of Orleans, happened to be quite close by.  ‘Fly, my nephew d’Orleans,’ shouted the Duke of Burgundy:  ’my lord is beside himself.  My God! let some one try and seize him!’ He was so furious that none durst risk it; and he was left to gallop hither and thither, and tire himself in pursuit of first one and then another.  At last, when he was weary and bathed in sweat, his chamberlain, William de Martel, came up behind and threw his arms about him.  He was surrounded, had his sword taken from him, was lifted from his horse, and laid gently on the ground, and then his jacket was unfastened.  His brother and his uncles came up, but his eyes were fixed and recognized nobody, and he did not utter a word.  ‘We must go back to Le Mans,’ said the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy:  ‘here is an end of the trip to Brittany.’  On the way they fell in with a wagon drawn by oxen; in this they laid the King of France, having bound him for fear of a renewal of his frenzy, and so took him back, motionless and speechless, to the town.”

It was not a mere fit of delirious fever; it was the beginning of a radical mental derangement, sometimes in abeyance, or at least for some time alleviated, but bursting out again without appreciable reason, and aggravated at every fresh explosion.  Charles vi. had always had a taste for masquerading.  When in 1389 the young queen, Isabel of Bavaria, came to Paris to be married, the king, on the morning of her entry, said to his chamberlain, Sire de Savoisy, “Prithee, take a good horse, and I will mount behind thee; and we will dress so as not to be known and go to see my wife cone in.”  Savoisy did not like it, but the king insisted; and so they went in this guise through the crowd, and got many