At these words the duchess recognized her son, thin and wasted as he was, and his face concealed by a beard. She tottered toward him to throw herself in his arms, but fell to the floor in a faint. The strain had been too great. Coming to herself soon, she embraced her sons and asked them how they had escaped death. Suddenly a great noise was heard outside. It was the Duke d’Aymon, who had returned from the chase, and the duchess, having first hidden her sons in an adjoining chamber, hastened to meet him. When she met him she could not restrain her tears and he knew that she had received news of her sons. She recounted to him their terrible sufferings and the awful dangers to which they had been exposed and how anxious they were to receive his pardon. The stern old duke was a prey to all sorts of emotions. On the one hand his father’s heart would accord to his sons the pardon they asked of him. On the other he feared the irritation the emperor would feel. The burning of Montfort had made him fearful of the safety of his own estates. It was at this point of incertitude that the duchess, anxious to bring the matter to a finish, startled him by bringing his sons before him, who threw themselves at his feet and supplicated him for grace. “My father!” cried Maugis, “if you only knew what misery your anger has caused your children you would forgive them. What greater sorrow could you cause them? Whom have we to trust in all this wide world but you? We would never have willingly fought against Charlemagne if we could have hoped for peace any other way.” “Alas!” replied the duke, “do you think the emperor would ever consent to accord peace to rebels? Never! The wrong you have already done has caused me to rest under the suspicion of complicity with you which will prevent me from affording you shelter.” On hearing those stern words the duchess burst into tears. “Fear not, dear children,” she cried, “your father loves you and his indecision need cause you no uneasiness.” “We would be very unwilling to cause our father any trouble,” said Alard. “We will go away, perhaps we can find some stranger who will not refuse us the assistance we cannot get from him.” At this stinging reproach the duke could not restrain his tears. “No, my children!” said he with a broken voice, “it is I who will go, and you shall be left here with your mother. She will give you all the attention you require and provide you with necessary means. I shall ignore all these kindnesses to you, and you must guard it as a secret, my meeting you at this time.” He then descended to the courtyard, remounted his horse, and followed by his suite, started out. After the duke had gone the duchess embraced her sons, and assured them of the good feelings of their father, that his only fear was the displeasure of Charlemagne, who perhaps might compel him to remain near him at Paris.