it to me with his last breath.'
`Do you wish to return there?' Poitiers asked.
`It is my only desire, Brother! I shall feel better there. And my child will be born as near as possible to his father's spirit, in the place where he left this world.'
Philippe took no decisions, even lesser ones, lightly. He turned his eyes away from the white veils which framed Clemence's face and looked out of the window at the spire of the Sainte-Chapelle, whose outline seemed uncertain and misty to his short-sighted eyes, like a great gold-and-stone stalk, on the summit of which seemed to blossom the royal lily.
`If I grant her this wish,' he thought, `she will be grateful to me, will look on me as her defender and will obey my decisions in all things. On the other hand, my adversaries will have less easy access to her at Vincennes than here, and will have less chance of using her against me. Besides, in her present state of grief, she is of no use to anyone.'
`I want to do everything you wish, Sister,' he replied; `as soon as the Assembly of notables has confirmed me in my position, my first care will be to take you back to Vincennes. Today is Monday; the Assembly, which I am hastening on, will doubtless take place on Friday. I think you will be able to hear mass in your own house next Sunday.'
`I knew you were a kind brother, Philippe. Your return is the first relief God has granted me.'
When he came out of the Queen's apartment, Philippe found his mother-in-law waiting for him. She had been disputing with Bouville and was walking alone, with long mannish strides, up and down the flagstones of the gallery beneath the wary eyes of the equerries of the guard.
`Well, how is she?' she asked Philippe.
`Pious and resigned, and well worthy of giving France a king,' replied the Count, of Poitiers, loud enough to be heard by all those present.
Then, in a low voice, he added: `I think, in the state of health in which I found her, that she will lose her child before her time.'
`It would be the best present she could give us, and would make everything much easier,' replied Mahaut in a whisper; `and then we should have done with all this mistrust and armed men about her. Since when have the peers of the realm been forbidden access to the Queen? I've been widowed too, devil take it, and people could always come and see me on affairs of State!'
Poisoner though she was, she was genuinely indignant that the general security measures should apply to her.
Philippe, who had not yet seen his wife since his return, went with Mahaut to the Hotel d'Artois.
`Your absence has seemed very long to my daughter,' said Mahaut. `But you will find her wonderfully well. No one would think that she was on the point of being brought to bed. I was just the same in my pregnancies, active till the last day.'
The meeting. between the Count of Poitiers and his wife was moving but there were no tears. Jeanne, though she was heavy and moved with difficulty, showed every sign of health and happiness. Night had fallen, and the glow of the candles, so becoming to the complexion, blurred any signs on the young woman's face of her condition. She was wearing a number of necklaces of red coral, well known to have a beneficent effect on childbirth.
It was in Jeanne's presence that Philippe became truly aware of the successes he had already achieved, and allowed himself some self-satisfaction. Taking his wife in his arms, he said: `I really think, my darling, that I can now call you Madame la Regente.
`Pray God, my dear lord, that I may give you a son,' she replied, clinging to her husband's strong, spare body.
`God will put the crown on His mercies,' Philippe whispered to her, `if He does not allow the child to be born till after Friday.'
An argument soon arose between Mahaut and Philippe. The Countess of Artois thought that her daughter should be moved to the palace at once, to share her husband's apartments. Philippe took the opposite view and wished Jeanne to remain in
`Do you wish to return there?' Poitiers asked.
`It is my only desire, Brother! I shall feel better there. And my child will be born as near as possible to his father's spirit, in the place where he left this world.'
Philippe took no decisions, even lesser ones, lightly. He turned his eyes away from the white veils which framed Clemence's face and looked out of the window at the spire of the Sainte-Chapelle, whose outline seemed uncertain and misty to his short-sighted eyes, like a great gold-and-stone stalk, on the summit of which seemed to blossom the royal lily.
`If I grant her this wish,' he thought, `she will be grateful to me, will look on me as her defender and will obey my decisions in all things. On the other hand, my adversaries will have less easy access to her at Vincennes than here, and will have less chance of using her against me. Besides, in her present state of grief, she is of no use to anyone.'
`I want to do everything you wish, Sister,' he replied; `as soon as the Assembly of notables has confirmed me in my position, my first care will be to take you back to Vincennes. Today is Monday; the Assembly, which I am hastening on, will doubtless take place on Friday. I think you will be able to hear mass in your own house next Sunday.'
`I knew you were a kind brother, Philippe. Your return is the first relief God has granted me.'
When he came out of the Queen's apartment, Philippe found his mother-in-law waiting for him. She had been disputing with Bouville and was walking alone, with long mannish strides, up and down the flagstones of the gallery beneath the wary eyes of the equerries of the guard.
`Well, how is she?' she asked Philippe.
`Pious and resigned, and well worthy of giving France a king,' replied the Count, of Poitiers, loud enough to be heard by all those present.
Then, in a low voice, he added: `I think, in the state of health in which I found her, that she will lose her child before her time.'
`It would be the best present she could give us, and would make everything much easier,' replied Mahaut in a whisper; `and then we should have done with all this mistrust and armed men about her. Since when have the peers of the realm been forbidden access to the Queen? I've been widowed too, devil take it, and people could always come and see me on affairs of State!'
Poisoner though she was, she was genuinely indignant that the general security measures should apply to her.
Philippe, who had not yet seen his wife since his return, went with Mahaut to the Hotel d'Artois.
`Your absence has seemed very long to my daughter,' said Mahaut. `But you will find her wonderfully well. No one would think that she was on the point of being brought to bed. I was just the same in my pregnancies, active till the last day.'
The meeting. between the Count of Poitiers and his wife was moving but there were no tears. Jeanne, though she was heavy and moved with difficulty, showed every sign of health and happiness. Night had fallen, and the glow of the candles, so becoming to the complexion, blurred any signs on the young woman's face of her condition. She was wearing a number of necklaces of red coral, well known to have a beneficent effect on childbirth.
It was in Jeanne's presence that Philippe became truly aware of the successes he had already achieved, and allowed himself some self-satisfaction. Taking his wife in his arms, he said: `I really think, my darling, that I can now call you Madame la Regente.
`Pray God, my dear lord, that I may give you a son,' she replied, clinging to her husband's strong, spare body.
`God will put the crown on His mercies,' Philippe whispered to her, `if He does not allow the child to be born till after Friday.'
An argument soon arose between Mahaut and Philippe. The Countess of Artois thought that her daughter should be moved to the palace at once, to share her husband's apartments. Philippe took the opposite view and wished Jeanne to remain in
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