“_My_ sword is sheathed, sire,” answered De La-Hirè, kneeling before the king, and laying the good weapon at his feet--“nor has been ever drawn, save at your highness’ bidding, against your highness’ foes. But I beseech you, sire, as you love honesty and honor, and hate deceit and treason, grant me your royal license to prove Armand de Laguy recreant, base, traitorous, a liar, and a felon, and a murtherer, hand to hand, in the presence of the ladies of your court, according to the law of arms and honor!” “Something of this we have heard already,” replied the king, “Baron de La-Hirè. But say out, now: of what accuse you Armand de Laguy? Show but good cause, and thy request is granted; for I have not forgot your good deeds in my cause against our rebel Savoyards and our Italian foemen. Of what accuse you Armand de Laguy?” “That he betrayed me, wounded, into the hands of the duke of Parma; that he dealt with Italian bravos to compass my assassination; that by foul lies and treacherous devices he has trained from me my affianced bride; and last, not least, deprived her of fair name and honor. This will I prove upon his body, so help me God and my good sword!” “Stand forth and answer to his charge, De Laguy--speak out! what sayest thou?” “I say,” answered Armand, boldly--“I say that he lies! that he did feign his own death, for some evil ends, and did deceive me, who would have died to succor him; that I, believing him dead, have won from him the love of this fair lady, I admit--but I assert that I did win it fairly, and of good right; and, for the rest, I say he lies doubly when he asserts that she has lost fair name or honor! This is _my_ answer, sire; and I beseech you grant _his_ prayer, and let us prove our words, as gentlemen of France, and soldiers, forthwith, by singular battle!” “Amen!” replied the king. “The third day hence, at noon, in the tiltyard, before our court, we do adjudge the combat--and this fair lady be the prize of the victor!--” “No, sire!” interposed Charles de La-Hirè, again kneeling; but before he had the time to add a second word, Marguerite de Vaudreuil, who had stood all the while with her hands clasped, and her eyes riveted upon the ground, sprang forth with a great cry. “No! no! for God’s sake! no! no! sire--great king--good gentleman--brave knight! doom me not to a fate so dreadful. Charles de La-Hirè is all that man can be of good, or great, or noble; but I betrayed him, whom I deemed dead, and he can never trust me living! Moreover, if he would take me to his arms, base as I am and most false-hearted, he should not; for God forbid that my dishonor should blight his noble fame. As for the slave De Laguy--the traitor and low liar--doom me, great monarch, to the convent or the block, but curse me not with such contamination! for, by the heavens I swear, and by the God that rules them, that I will die by my own hand before I wed that serpent!”