“In addition to this confession of that wretched
guilty one, I hold, an it so please the court, the
true and the forged papers!” continued the monk;
“when they shall be compared, I doubt not the
decree will be rescinded.”

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The papers were handed to the members of the
court. A deep investigation followed; but ere an
hour had elapsed, Talon rose to withdraw all
charges.

“Not so,” interrupted Molè—“not so. The
court hath heard the evidence. The court must
now decide. How say ye, gentlemen, is the prisoner,
Major-general Mornington, guilty or innocent
of the things alleged against him?”

“Innocent, innocent, upon our honours!”

A burst of approbation rang through the vast
hall; again and again it pealed—three rounds of
full-mouthed cheering! I was surrounded by a
crowd of smiling faces, grasped by a hundred
friendly hands; but again the court spoke in the
person of its president.

“It is the full opinion of this court, and their
deliberate sentence, that the decree bearing date
from May the tenth, 1632, shall be rescinded—evidence
being fully adduced to prove that such decree
was then obtained by perjury and falsehood;
that Isabel de Chateaufort, deceased, be styled, in
title of her husband, Isabel de Coucy; and that
the daughter of her body, Isabel de Mornington,
be in all respects deemed her rightful heiress, and
her child legitimate!”

At this instant Condé grasped me by the arm,

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and hurried me through the crowd; I looked in
vain about me for Isabel, or for the Benedictine.

“To court, to court,” whispered the prince;
“our horses wait!”

“But Isabel?” I cried.

“Is there already—cared for by Anne of Austria.
Away, we are awaited!”

At the foot of the steps we found the prince's
horses, with a group of gentlemen and pages, and
among them—the best horse and the most faithful
servant—stood Bayard and old Martin Lydford.

“Bless you,” he whispered, as he held my stirrup—
“bless you, my glorious master!”

Merrily clattered the pavements, as we dashed
along; but my brain whirled round and round,
and my intellect, which had never been confused
or shaken by the pressure of calamity, reeled in
the fulness of my joy. We reached the gates of
the Palais Royal, threw our reins to the royal
pages, and, leaning on the arm of the best and
bravest noble of the age, I—a mere adventurer of
fortune—entered the presence-chamber of him
who was to be thereafter the mightiest king in
Christendom.

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