'Monseigneur,—The unhappy Berquin, who maintains that God, through your goodness, has twice saved his life, presents himself before you, to make manifest his innocence to you, having no one else to whom he can apply. Knowing, Monseigneur, the esteem in which you hold him, and the desire which he has now and always has had to serve you, I fear not to entreat that you will be pleased to have pity upon him. He will convince you that these heretic-finders are more slanderous and disobedient towards you than zealous for the faith. He knows, Monseigneur, that you desire to maintain the rights of every one, and that the just man needs no advocate in the eyes of your compassion. For this cause I shall say no more. Entreating Him who has given you such graces and virtues to grant you a long and happy life, in order that he may long be glorified by you in this world and everlastingly in the world to come, 'Your most obedient and most humble subject and sister, 'MARGARET.'[101] Having finished, the queen rose and gave the letter to Berquin, who immediately sought an audience of the king. We know not how he was received, or what effect Margaret's intercession had upon Francis. It would seem, however, that the king addressed a few kind words to him. We know at least that Beda and the Sorbonne were uneasy, and that, fearing to see their victim once more escape them, they increased their exertions, and brought one charge after another against him. At last the authorities gave way; the police received orders to avoid every demonstration calculated to alarm him, lest he should escape to Erasmus at Basle. All their measures were arranged, and at the moment when he least expected it, about three weeks before Easter (in March 1529), Berquin was arrested and taken to the Conciergerie. [Sidenote: BERQUIN'S LETTER DISCOVERED.] Thus then was 'the most learned of the nobles,' as he was termed, thrown into prison in despite of the queen. He paced sadly up and down his cell, and one thought haunted him. Having been seized very unexpectedly, he had left in his room at Paris certain books which were condemned at Rome, and which consequently might ruin him. 'Alas!' he exclaimed, 'they will cost me serious trouble!'[102] Berquin resolved to apply to a christian friend whom he could trust, to prevent the evil which he foresaw; and the next day after his incarceration, when the domestic, who had free access to him, and passed in and out on business, came for orders, the prisoner gave him, with an anxious and mysterious air, a letter which he said was of the greatest importance. The servant immediately hid it under his dress. 'My life is at stake,' repeated Berquin. In that letter, addressed to a familiar friend, the prisoner begged him without delay to remove the books pointed out to him and to burn them.