Richard knelt to his suzerain and was by him caught up and kissed.  Philip made him sit at his side on the throne.  This put Montferrat, who was standing, sadly out of countenance, for he considered himself (as perhaps he was) the superior of any man uncrowned.

It seems that some news had drifted in on the west wind.  ’Richard, oh, Richard!’ the King began, half whimsical and half vexed, ’What have you been doing in Touraine?’

‘Fair sire,’ answered Richard, ’I have been doing what will, I fear, give pain to our cousin Montferrat.  I have been breaking the back of the Count of Saint-Pol.’  At this the Marquess, suffused with dark blood till he was colour of lead, broke out, pointing his finger as well as his words.  As the bilge-water jets from a ketch when the hold is surcharged, so did the Marquess jet his expletives.

’Ha, sire!  Ha, King of France!  Now give me leave to break this brigand’s back, who robs and reviles in one breath.  Touch of the Gospel, is it to be borne?’ Foaming with rage, he lunged forward a step or two, his hand upon his long sword.  Richard slowly got up from the throne and stood his full height.

‘Marquess, you use words I will not hear—­’

King Philip broke in—­’Fair lords, sweet lords—­’; but Richard put his hand up, having a kingly way with him which even kings observed.

’Dear sire,’—­his voice was level and cool—­’let me say my whole mind before the Marquess recovers his.  The Count of Saint-Pol, for beastly reasons, spoke in my hearing either true things or false things concerning Madame Alois.  If they were true I was ready to die; if they were false I hope he was.  Believing them false, I had punished one man for them before; but he had them from Saint-Pol.  Therefore I called Saint-Pol a liar, and other proper things.  This gave him occasion to save his credit at the risk of his back.  He broke the one and I the other.  Now I will hear the Marquess.’

The Marquess tugged at his sword.  ‘And I, Count of Poictou—­’; but King Philip held out his sceptre, he too very much a king.

‘And we, Count of Poictou,’ he said, ’command you by your loyalty to tell us what Saint-Pol dared say of our sister Dame Alois.’  Although his thin boy’s voice quavered, he seemed the more royal for the human weakness.  Richard was greatly moved, thawed in a moment.

‘God forgive me, Philip, but I cannot tell thee—­’ Pity broke up his tones.

The young king almost whimpered:  ‘Oh, Richard, what is this?’ But Richard turned away his face.  It was now the chance of the great Italian.

‘Now listen, King Philip,’ he said, grim and square, ’and listen you, Count of Poictou, whose account is to be quieted presently.  Of this business I happen to know something.  If it serve not your honour I cannot help it.  It serves my murdered cousin’s honour—­therefore listen.’