to yourself; without a doubt you will be betrayed.”  The duke turned towards Tanneguy, and said, “We trust ourselves to your word; in God’s holy name, are you quite sure of what you have told us?  For you would do ill to betray us.”  “My most dread lord,” answered Tanneguy, “I would rather be dead than commit treason against you or any other:  have ye no fear; I certify you that my lord meaneth you no evil.”  “Very well, we will go then, trusting in God and you,” re-joined the duke; and he set out walking to the bridge.  On arriving at the barrier on the castle side he found there to receive him Sire de Beauveau and Tanneguy Duchatel.  “Come to my lord,” said they; “he is awaiting you.”  “Gentlemen,” said the duke, “you see how I come;” and he showed them that he and his people had only their swords; then clapping Tanneguy on the shoulder, he said, “Here is he in whom I trust,” and advanced towards the dauphin, who remained standing, on the town side, at the end of the lodge constructed in the middle of the bridge.  On arriving at the prince’s presence Duke John took off his velvet cap and bent his knee to the ground.  “My lord,” said he, “after God, my duty is to obey and serve you; I offer to apply thereto and employ therein my body, my friends, my allies, and well-wishers.  Say I well?” he added, fixing his eyes on the dauphin.  “Fair cousin,” answered the prince, “you say so well that none could say better; rise and be covered.”  Conversation thereupon ensued between the two princes.  The dauphin complained of the duke’s delay in coming to see him:  “For eighteen days,” he said, “you have made us await your coming in this place of Montereau, this place a prey to epidemic and mortality, at the risk of and probably with an eye to our personal danger.”  The duke, surprised and troubled, resumed his haughty and exacting tone:  “We can neither do nor advise aught,” said he, “save in your father’s presence; you must come thither.”  “I shall go when I think proper,” said Charles, “and not at your will and pleasure; it is well known that whatever we do, we two together, the king will be content therewith.”  Then he reproached the duke with his inertness against the English, with the capture of Pontoise, and with his alliances amongst the promoters of civil war.  The conversation was becoming more and more acrid and biting.  “In so doing,” added the dauphin, “you were wanting to your duty.”  “My lord,” replied the duke, “I did only what it was my duty to do.”  “Yes, you were wanting,” repeated Charles.  “No,” replied the duke.  It was probably at these words that, the lookers-on also waxing wroth, Tanneguy Duchatel told the duke that the time had come for expiating the murder of the Duke of Orleans, which none of them had forgotten, and raised his battle-axe to strike the duke.  Sire de Navailles, who happened to be at his master’s side, arrested the weapon; but, on the other hand, the Viscount of Narbonne raised