"Ever the remembrance of that occurrence! Again does the storm gather over your forehead! Again your eyes shoot lightning! But, by the heavens, madam; the slave has been strangled, the imbecile and his son are both dead--they have both been killed and lie in their graves. I even forgot that, in order to complete the hecatomb of those malefic animals, Quintio, the stewart of the palace and Duke of Champagne, who took an improper part in the affair of Metz, was put to death upon your orders. What more can you wish? Besides, in exchange for the Austrasia that you lost, did you not gain a Burgundy? If Theudebert drove you from Metz, did you not take refuge here, in Chalon, near your other grandson Thierry? Enervated and besotted through overindulgence with the women that we furnished him with, did you not drive him to undertake a merciless war against his own brother, whom he overcame at Toul and Tolbiac, and who, after these defeats, was himself, together with his son put to death, as I reminded you a minute ago? Thus revenged for being exiled from Metz, have you not ever since held sway over Thierry and actually reigned in his stead? When Aegila, the stewart of the palace, made you apprehensive by reason of his growing influence over your grandson, you promptly rid yourself of Aegila, and you substituted him with your lover Protade, who thereupon became the mayor of the palace--" "But they killed him, Chrotechilde--they killed him--they killed my lover, my Protade!" "Come, madam; we are here among ourselves; admit that a Queen never suffers any dearth of lovers. You need only choose among the handsomest, the youngest, the most appetizing nobles of the court. Moreover, madam, without meaning to make you any reproaches on that score, if they did kill your Protade, did you not in turn kill their Bishop Didier?" "Perchance he did not merit his fate?"