“Well,” replied William, “I am satisfied, for I am in favor of the queen. And now, between ourselves, my dear brother, laying all diplomacy aside--for we are alone, and these walls have no ears--I know as well as you that it matters not to our king whether the wife of Henry VIII. be named Anne or Catherine. “And yet, after all, it may be the name of this new Helen will become the signal for war,” replied the bishop. “You forget that in marrying Anne Boleyn Henry will be compelled to seek an alliance with France, in order to resist the opposition of the Emperor Charles V.; and as for ourselves, we have use for the five thousand crowns he has promised to assist us in paying the ransom of the children of France. This family quarrel can be arranged so entirely to our advantage that it would really be a misfortune should it come to a sudden termination. I hope, however, such may not be the result.” “You are right, brother,” said Du Bellay, laughing. “I see I have too much heart to make a skilful diplomatist. I have already let myself become ensnared, you perceive, and drawn over to the cause of this Queen Catherine. But it is nevertheless a veritable fact, while families are engaged in disputing among themselves, they generally leave their neighbors in peace. It would seem, however, the king must have become a madman or a fool, thus to ignore kindred, allies, fortune, and kingdom--all for this Lady Anne.” “Yes, much more than a madman,” replied his brother, phlegmatically; “after he has married her, he will be cured of his insanity. But come, now, let us leave Lady Anne and her affairs. You must know that immediately after the adjournment of the cardinals, the king sent for me. I found him terribly excited, walking rapidly up and down the great hall formerly used as a chapter-room by the monks. Wolsey alone was with him, standing near the abbot’s great arm-chair, and wearing an air of consternation. The instant he saw me approaching, he cried out, ‘Come, come, my lord, the king wishes to have your advice on the subject we are now discussing.’ And I at once perceived my presence was a great relief to him. “The king spoke immediately, while his eyes flashed fire. ‘M. du Bellay,’ he exclaimed, ‘Campeggio shall be punished!--yes, punished! Parliament shall bring him to trial! I will never submit to defeat in this matter. I will show the Pope that he has underrated both my will and my power.’ “‘Sire,’ I answered, ‘after mature reflection, it seems to me it would be a mistaken policy in your majesty to resort to such violent measures. Nothing has yet been decided, and the case is by no means hopeless; the wisest course would therefore be to restrain all manifestation of displeasure toward Campeggio. What advantage could you possibly gain by insulting or ill-treating an old man whom you have invited into your kingdom, or how could you then expect to obtain a favorable decision from the Holy See?’