economy of Providence.  But he knew his own worth perfectly well, and his own standing in the host; so when they told him where the Austrian’s flag flew, he said, ‘Take it down.’  They took it down.  Luitpold grew red, made a long speech in German at which Richard frowned, and another (shorter) in Latin, at which he laughed.  Luitpold put up his flag again; again Richard said, ‘Take it down.’  Luitpold was so angry that he made no speeches at all; he ran up his flag a third time.  When King Richard was told, he laughed, and on this occasion said, ‘Throw it away.’  Gaston of Bearn, more vivacious than discreet, did so with ignominious detail.  That day there was a council of the great estates, at which King Philip presided in a furred gown; for though the weather was suffocating his fever kept him chill to the bones.  To the Marquess, pale with his old grudge, was now added the Archduke, flaming with his new one.  The mottled Duke of Burgundy blinked approval of all grudges, and young Saint-Pol poured fire into the fire.  Richard was not present, nor any of his faction; they, because they had not been advertised, he, because he was in the Street of the Camel at the knees of Jehane the Fair.

The Archduke began on the instant.  ‘By God, my lords,’ he said, ’is there in the world a beast more flagrant than the King of England not killed already?’ The Marquess showed the white rims of his eyes—­’ Injurious, desperate, bloody villain,’ was his commentary; and Saint-Pol lifted up his hand to his master for leave to speak mischief.  But King Philip said fretfully, ’Well, well, we can all speak of something, I suppose.  He scorns me, he has always scorned me.  He refuses me homage, he shamed my sister; and now he takes the lead of me.’

The Marquess kept muttering to the table, ’Hopeless villain, hopeless villain!’ and the Archduke, after staring about him for sympathy, claimed attention, if not that; for he brought his fist down with a thump.

‘By thunder, but I kill him!’ he said deep in his throat.  Saint-Pol came running and kissed his knee, to Luitpold’s great surprise.

Philip shivered in his furs.  ‘I must go home,’ he fretted; ’I am smitten to death.  I must die in France.’

‘Where is the King of England?’ asked the, Marquess, knowing perfectly well.

‘Evil light upon him,’ cried Saint-Pol, ’he is in my sister’s house.  Between them they give me a nephew.’

‘Oho!’ Montferrat said.  ’Is that it?  Why, then, we know where to strike him quickest.  We should make Navarre of our party.’

’He has done that himself, by all accounts:  said the Duke of Burgundy, wide-awake.

The Archduke, returning to his new lodgings in the Bishop’s house, sent for his astrologers and asked them, Could he kill the King of England?

‘My lord,’ said they, ‘you cannot.’

‘How is that?’ he asked.

‘Lord,’ they told him, ’by our arts we discover that he will live for a hundred years.’