"The mortal remains of Victoria the Great were placed upon the pyre and disappeared in a flame, pure, brilliant and radiant as the life that she had lived. Finally, in order to do honor to her virile genius across the ages, the people of Gaul decreed to her the sovereign title that she had ever declined out of her sublime modesty. It is now more than four centuries ago since that bronze was cast in the effigy of _Victoria, Emperor_." As he uttered these last words, Loysik took the medal in his hands. Brunhild, whose rage now reached a paroxysmal pitch, snatched the august image from the old monk's hands, dashed it on the floor, and trampled upon it in blind rage. "Oh, Victoria! Victoria!" cried Loysik, his face beaming with exalted enthusiasm. "Oh, woman Emperor! Heroine of Gaul! I can now die! Your life will have been to Brunhild the punishment for her crimes!" And turning toward the Queen, who continued a prey to the frenzied vertigo that had seized her, he exclaimed triumphantly: "The glory of Victoria, like the bronze that you are trampling under foot, defies your impotent rage!" At this point Warnachaire burst into the chamber crying: "Madam--madam--disastrous tidings! A second messenger has just arrived from the army. By a skilful manoeuvre Clotaire II surrounded our German allies; the prospect of booty carried them over to the enemy's banners; he is now advancing with forced marches upon Chalon. Your presence, together with that of the young princes, in the army, is indispensible at this critical moment. I have just issued the necessary orders for your immediate departure. Come, madam, come! The safety of your kingdoms, perhaps your own life, is at stake--as you know, the son of Fredegonde is implacable!" Struck with stupor at the sudden news Brunhild at first remained petrified, with her foot still resting upon the medal of Victoria. An instant later she had recovered herself, and in a clamorous voice, that sounded like the roar of an infuriate lioness, she cried: "To me, my leudes! A horse--a horse! Brunhild will either be killed at the head of her army or the son of Fredegonde will meet his death in Burgundy. Send for the young princes! To horse. All forces on the march!" PART III. THE CAMP OF CLOTAIRE. CHAPTER I. WEEDING KINGLETS.