‘Assuredly not,’ said Malcolm, but very low; and looking up into his face, as he added, ‘This should be for your ear alone, Sir.’

They were left alone, and the Duke said:  ’I have heard from Robsart how the ring was obtained.  You may spare that part of the story.’

‘Sir,’ said Malcolm, ‘when the Lady Esclairmonde’ (for he was not to be balked of dwelling on that name with prolonged delight) ’had brought me the ring, Sir Lewis Robsart advised my setting forth without loss of time.’

‘So he told me,’ said the Duke; ’and likewise that you took his words so literally as to set out with only three followers.’

’Ay, Sir; but he knew not wherefore.  My escort had gone forth into the city, and while they were being collected, a message bade me to the Lady Esclairmonde’s presence.  I went, suspecting naught, but I found myself in presence of Madame of Hainault, and of a veiled lady—­who, my Lord—­’ He paused.  ’She was broad in form, and had a trick of gasping as though over-fat.’

Bedford nodded.  Every one knew Queen Isabeau by these tokens.

’She scarce spoke, my Lord; but the Countess Jaqueline pretended to be in one of her merry moods.  She told me one good turn deserved another, and that, as in gratitude and courtesy bound, I must do her the favour of either lending her the signet, or, if I would not let it out of my hands, of setting it to a couple of parchments, which she declared King Henry had promised to grant.’

‘The false woman!’

’Sir, words told not on her.  She laughed and clapped her hands at whatever I said of honour, faith, or trust.  She would have it that it was a jest—­nay, romping fashion, she seized my hand, which I let her have, knowing it was only my own seal that was on it.  Never was I so glad that the signet being too small for my fingers, it was in my bosom.’

‘Knew you what the parchments bore?’ asked, Bedford, anxiously.

‘One—­so far as I could see—­was of the Duke of Orleans’ liberty,’ said Malcolm.  ’The other—­pardon me, Sir—­it bore the names of Duke Humfrey and Countess Jaqueline.’

‘The shameless wanton!’ broke forth Bedford.  ’How did you escape her at last, boy?’

‘Sir,’ said Malcolm, turning as red as loss of blood permitted, ’she had not kept her hands off me; therefore when she stood between me and the door, I told her that discourtesy was better than trust-breaking, and while she jeered at my talking out of a book of chivalry, I e’en took her by the hands, lifted her aside, opened the door, ran down-stairs, and so to the stables, where I mounted with the only three men I could get together.’

Bedford could not but laugh, as he added, ’Bravely done, Lord Malcolm; but, I fear me, she will never forgive you.  What next?’