The duke laughed, and seemed to feel that he was perpetrating a great joke on his rival.

“But your brother-in-law, Edward of England, may object to having his sister divorced,” suggested Hymbercourt.

“In that case we’ll take a page from King Louis’ book,” answered Charles.  “We’ll use gold, Hymbercourt, gold!  I shall not, however, like Louis, buy Edward’s ministers!  They are too expensive.  I’ll put none of my gold in Hastings’s sleeve.  I’ll pension Shore’s wife, and Edward will not trouble himself about his sister.  He prefers other men’s sisters.  Do not fear, Hymbercourt; the time has come to meet Louis’ craft with craft.”

“And Your Grace’s unhappy daughter is to be the shuttlecock, my lord?” suggested Hymbercourt.

“She will serve her purpose in the weal of Burgundy, as I do.  I give my life to Burgundy.  Why should not this daughter of mine give a few tears?  But her tears are unreasonable.  Why should she object to this marriage?  Even though God should hereafter give me a son, who should cut the princess out of Burgundy, will she not be queen of France?  What more would the perverse girl have?  By God, Hymbercourt, it makes my blood boil to hear you, a man of sound reason, talk like a fool.  I hear the same maudlin protest from the duchess.  She, too, is under the spell of this girl, and mourns over her trumped-up grief like a parish priest at a bishop’s funeral.”

“But, my lord, consider the creature your daughter is to marry,” said Hymbercourt.  “He is but a child, less than fourteen years of age, and is weak in mind and body.  Surely, it is a wretched fate for your daughter.”

“I tell you the girl is perverse,” interrupted the duke.  “She would raise a storm were the Dauphin a paragon of manliness.  He is a poor, mean wretch, whom she may easily rule.  His weakness will be her advantage.  She is strong enough, God knows, and wilful enough to face down the devil himself.  If there is a perverse wench on all the earth, who will always have her own way by hook or by crook, it is this troublesome daughter of mine.  She has the duchess wound around her finger.  I could not live with them at Ghent, and sent them here for the sake of peace.  When she is queen of France she will also be king of that realm—­and in God’s name what more could the girl ask?”

“But, my lord, let me beg you to consider well this step before you take it.  I am sure evil will come of it,” pleaded Hymbercourt.

“I have considered,” answered the duke.  “Let me hear no more of this rubbish.  Two women dinning it into my ears morning, noon, and night are quite enough for my peace of mind.  I hear constantly, ’Dear father, don’t kill me.  Spare your daughter,’ and ’Dear my lord, I beg you not to sacrifice the princess, whom I so love.’  God’s mercy!  I say I am tired of it!  This marriage shall take place at once!  Now, now, now, do you hear, Hymbercourt?  Tell the bishop to write this letter in English.  We will make the draught as bitter as possible for Louis.  He hates the sight of an English word, and small wonder.  Direct the bishop to make the letter short and to the point.  Tell him to say the marriage shall take place now.  Have him use the word now.  Do you understand?”