To the young Lady Montagu, the blow was astounding.  It was the first realization that a great man could die, a great support be taken away; and, child-like, she moved about, bewildered and stunned, in the great household on which the dark cloud had descended—­clinging to Esclairmonde as if to protect her from she knew not what; anything dreadful might happen, with the King dead, and her father and husband away.

Alas! poor Esclairmonde!  She was in much more real danger herself, as came to the bride’s mind presently, when, in the midst of her lamentations, she exclaimed, ’And, ah, Clairette! there ends his goodly promise about the sisterhood of good works at Paris.’

Esclairmonde responded with a gesture of sorrow, and the murmur of the ‘In principibus non confide’ that is so often the echo of disappointment.

‘And what will you do?’ continued Alice, watching her anxiously, as her face, turning very pale, was nevertheless uplifted towards heaven.

‘Strive to trust more in God, less in princes,’ she breathed forth, clasping her hands, and compressing her lips.

‘Nay, but does it grieve you so intensely?’ asked Alice.  ‘Mayhap—­’

’Alas! sweet one!  I would that the fall of this device seemed like to be the worst effect to me of your good king’s death.  Pray for me, Alice, for now no earthly power stands between me and my kinsmen’s will.’

Alice cried aloud, ’Nay, nay, lady, we are English still.  There are my father; my lord, the Duke of Bedford; they will not suffer any wrong to be done.’

’Hush, Alice.  None of them hath any power to aid me.  Even good King Henry had no legal power to protect me; only he was so great, so strong in word or deed, that no man durst do before him what he declared a shame and a sin.  Now it will be expedient more than ever that nothing be done by the English to risk offending the Duke of Burgundy.  None will dare withhold me; none ought to dare, for they act not for themselves, but for their infant charge; and my countess is weary of me.  There is nothing to prevent my uncles from taking me away with them; or—­’

‘Nothing!’ cried Alice.  ‘It cannot be!  Oh, that my father were here!’

‘He could do nothing for me.’

‘A convent!’

‘No convent here could keep me against the Bishop of Therouenne.’

Alice wrung her hands.  ‘Oh, it cannot—­shall not be!’

’No, Alice, I do not believe it will be.  I have that confidence in Him to whom I have given myself, that I do not believe He will permit me to be snatched from Him, so long as my will does not consent.’  Esclairmonde faltered a moment, as she remembered her wavering, crossed her hands on her breast, and ejaculated, ’May He deal mercifully with me!  Yet it may be at an exceeding cost—­at that of all my cherished schemes, of all that was pride and self-seeking.  Alice, look not so terrified.  Nothing can be done immediately, or with violence, in this first mourning for the King; and I trust to make use of the time to disguise me, and escape to England, where I may keep my vow as anchoress, or as lay sister.  Let me keep that, and my self-exalting schemes shall be all put by!’