“Yes, my lord,” answered Hymbercourt.

“Order him to fetch the missive immediately to the apartments of the duchess.  It shall be read, signed, and despatched in the presence of my daughter and my wife, so that they may know what they have to expect.  I’ll see that I’m bothered no more with their tears and their senseless importunities.”

“I’ll carry out your instructions,” said Hymbercourt, bowing and taking his leave.

The duke went to his wife’s parlor and fell moodily into a chair.  The duchess was sitting on a divan, and the princess was weeping in her arms.  After a long silence, broken only by Mary’s half-smothered sobs, the duke turned sharply upon the women:—­

“For the love of God, cease your miserable whimpering,” growled his lordship.  “Is not my life full of vexations without this deluge of tears at home?  A whimpering woman will do more to wear out the life of a man than a score of battling enemies.  Silence, I say; silence, you fools!”

Mary and the duchess were now unable to control themselves.  Charles rose angrily and, with his clenched hand raised for a blow, strode across the room to the unhappy women.  Clinging to each other, the princess and Duchess Margaret crouched low on the divan.  Then this great hero, whom the world worships and calls “The Bold,” bent over the trembling women and upbraided them in language that I will not write.

“God curse me if I will have my life made miserable by a pair of fools,” cried the duke.  “I am wretched enough without this useless annoyance.  Enemies abroad and disobedience in my own family will drive me mad!”

The women slipped from the divan to the floor at the duke’s feet, and clung to each other.  The duchess covered the princess to protect her from the duke’s blow, and, alas! took it herself.  Charles stepped back, intending to kick his daughter, but the duchess again threw herself on Yolanda and again received the blow.  By that time the duke’s fury was beyond all measure, and he stooped to drag his wife from Yolanda that he might vent his wrath upon the sobbing girl.  The duchess, who was a young, strong woman, sprang to her feet and placed herself between Yolanda, lying on the floor, and the infuriated duke.

“You shall not touch the child, my lord!” cried the duchess.  “Though she is your child, you shall not touch her if I can help it.  Twice, my lord, you have almost killed your daughter in your anger, and I have sworn to prevent a recurrence of your brutality or to die in my attempt to save her.”

She snatched a dagger from her bosom, and spoke calmly:  “Now come, my lord; but when you do so, draw your dagger, for, by the Virgin, I will kill you if you do not kill me, before you shall touch that girl.  Before you kill me, my lord, remember that my brother of England will tear you limb from limb for the crime, and that King Louis will gladly help him in the task.  Come, my husband!  Come, my brave lord!  I am but a weak woman.  You may easily kill me, and I will welcome death rather than life with you.  When I am out of the way, you may work your will on your daughter.  Because I am your wife, my brother has twice saved you from King Louis.  You owe your domain and your life to me.  I should sell my life at a glorious price if my death purchased your ruin.  Come, my lord!”