"One is bound to put faith in something. You could have killed me--that is true; you have not done so--I can not deny the fact. Your purpose is not to take revenge upon me--unless you mean to reserve me for a fate more terrible than death. But that is not likely. The man who hates does not resort to such hazardous and refined schemes. The future belongs to none. If the opportunity offers to strike an enemy, the blow is dealt hard and firmly. I therefore conclude that you are not animated by secret hatred toward me. You shall keep the command of the army. Listen, Warnachaire, Brunhild is implacable in her suspicions and her hatred, but she is magnificent towards those who serve her faithfully. Let Fredegonde's son fall into my hands, and my favor will transcend your expectations. Let us forget the past, let us be friends." "The past is forgotten, madam, as far as I am concerned." "Now let us argue calmly, Warnachaire. Let us sift things to the bottom. I did mean to have you killed--that is true! I have had so many others killed! But it never was out of taste for blood. My sister Galeswinthe was killed, my husband was killed, my son was killed, my most faithful servants were killed. Single-handed have I been compelled to defend the kingdom of my son and grandsons against the kings who are bent upon my destruction. Whatever weapon was available was good to me; and after all, I have won brilliant victories, I have accomplished great things. All this notwithstanding I am hated; the Frankish seigneurs envy me; the vile Gallic plebs, whether slave or free, is silently resentful towards me, and would rebel if it were not curbed by the terror I inspire it with. But look! Look at that man! Who is he?" cried Brunhild breaking off her sentence in the middle, and, precipitately rising, she pointed at Loysik, who stood at the door connecting with the secret spiral staircase, and who was pushing aside with one arm the leather curtain that had until then hid him from the eyes of the Queen and the mayor of the palace of Burgundy. Warnachaire took a few steps towards the aged hermit laborer, who advanced slowly into the chamber, and said to him: "Monk, how come you here? Great is your audacity to dare to introduce yourself into the Queen's apartment--who are you?" "I am the superior of the monastery of the Valley of Charolles." "You lie!" broke in Brunhild. "One of my chamberlains is at the abbey at this hour to seize the superior, and bring him to me in irons." "Your chamberlain," replied the monk, "your chamberlain, together with the archdeacon and all their armed men, is at this hour a prisoner in the monastery."