"Jacqueline," he asked, glancing up from the blade, "why in the crypt that day we escaped did you pause at that monument?"
Quickly she turned, gazing at him from the half-darkness in which she stood.
"Did you see to whom the monument was erected?" she asked in a low voice.
"To the wife of the constable. But what was Anne, Duchess of Dubrois, to you?"
"She was the last lady of the castle," said the girl softly.
Again he surveyed the jeweled emblem on the sword, mocking reminder of a glory gone beyond recall.
"And how was it, mistress, the castle was confiscated by the king?" he continued, after a pause.
"Shall I tell you the story?" she asked, her voice hardening.
"Triboulet's description of the scene where the constable braved the king, insisting on his rights, was true," she observed, proudly.
"But why had the noble wearer of this sword been deprived of his feudality and tenure?"
"Because he was strong and great, and the king feared him; because he was noble and handsome, and the queen-regent loved him. It was not her hand only, Louise of Savoy, Francis' mother, offered, but--the throne."
Quickly she crossed the room and leaned upon the table. In the glimmer of the candles her face was soft and tender. He thought he had never seen a sweeter or more womanly expression.
"But he refused it," she continued, "for he loved only the memory of his wife, Lady Anne. She, a perfect being. The other--what?"
"Then followed the endless persecution and spite of a woman scorned," she continued, rapidly. "One by one, his honors were wrested from him. He who had borne the flag triumphantly through Italy was deprived of the government of Milan and replaced by a brother of Madame de Châteaubriant, then favorite of the king. His castle, lands, were confiscated, until, driven to despair, he fled and allied himself with the emperor. 'Traitor,' they called him. He, a Bayard."
A moment she stood, an exalted look on her features; tall, erect; then stepped toward him and took the sword. With a bright and radiant glance she surveyed it; pressed the hilt to her lips, and with both hands held it to her bosom. As if fascinated, the fool watched her. Her countenance was upturned; a moment, and it fell; a dark shadow crossed it; beneath her lashes her eyes were like night.