It was a delight to see the young face freed from the haggard, dejected expression that had been sadder than the outward wound; and yet it was so questionable how far the French connection was acceptable to the family, that when Berenger requested Mr. Adderley to make mention of the mercy vouch-safed to him in the morning devotions, the chaplain bowed, indeed, but took care to ascertain that his so doing would be agreeable to my Lord and my Lady.

He found that if Lady Walwyn was still inclined to regret that the Frenchwoman was so entirely a wife, and thought Berenger had been very hasty and imprudent, yet that the old Lord was chiefly distressed at the cruel injustice he had so long been doing this poor youth thing.  A strong sense of justice, and long habit of dignified self-restraint, alone prevented Lord Walwyn from severely censuring Mr. Adderley for misrepresentations; but the old nobleman recollected that Walsingham had been in the same story, and was too upright to visit his own vexation on the honestly-mistaken tutor.

However, when Berenger made his appearance in the study, looking as if not one right, but weeks, had been spent in recovering health and spirit, the old man’s first word was a gentle rebuke for his having been left unaware of how far matters had gone; but he cut short the attempted reply, but saying he knew it was chiefly owing to his own over-hasty conclusion, and fear of letting his grandson injure himself by vainly discussing the subject.  Now, however, he examined Berenger closely on all the proceedings Paris and at Montpipeau, and soon understood that the ceremony had been renewed, ratifying the vows taken in infancy.  The old statesman’s face cleared up at once; for, as he explained, he had now no anxieties as to the validity of the marriage by English law, at least, in spite of the decree from Rome, which, as he pointed out to his grandson, was wholly contingent on the absence of subsequent consent, since the parties had come to an age for free-will.  Had he known of this, the re-marriage, he said, he should certainly have been less supine.  Why had Berenger been silent?

’I was commanded, sir.  I fear I have transgressed the command by mentioning it now.  I must pray you to be secret.’

’Secret, foolish lad.  Know you not that the rights of your wife and your children rest upon it?’ and as the change in Berenger’s looks showed that he had not comprehended the full importance of the second ceremony as nullifying the papal sentence, which could only quash the first on the ground of want of mutual consent, he proceeded, ’Command, quotha?  Who there had any right to command you, boy?’

‘Only one, sir.’

’Come, this no moment for lover’s folly.  It was not the girl, then?  Then it could no other than the miserable King—­was it so?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Berenger.  ’He bade me as king, and requested me as the friend who gave her to me.  I could do no otherwise, and I thought it would be but a matter of a few days, and that our original marriage was the only important one.’