“Be it so, fair one,” answered the king, very coldly, “be it so; we permit thy choice--a convent or the victor’s bridal bed shall be thy doom, at thine own option! Meanwhile, your swords, sirs: until the hour of battle ye are both under our arrest. Jarnac, be thou godfather to Charles de La-Hirè; Nevers, do thou like office for De Laguy.” “By God, not I, sire!” answered the proud duke. “I hold this man’s offence so rank, his guilt so palpable, that, on my conscience, I think your royal hangman were his best godfather!” “Nevertheless, De Nevers, it shall be as I say! This bold protest of thine is all-sufficient for thine honor; and it is but a form! No words, duke! it must be as I have said! Joyeuse, escort this lady to thy duchess; pray her accept of her as the king’s guest, until this matter be decided. The third day hence at noon, on foot, with sword and dagger, with no arms of defence or vantage; the principals to fight alone, until one die or yield--and so God shield the right!” CHAPTER II. It was a clear, bright day in the early autumn, when the royal tiltyard, on the Isle de Paris, was prepared for a deadly conflict. The tilt-yard was a regular, oblong space, enclosed with stout, squared palisades, and galleries for the accommodation of spectators, immediately in the vicinity of the royal residence of the Tournelles, a splendid Gothic structure, adorned with all the rare and fanciful devices of that rich style of architecture. At a short distance thence rose the tall, gray towers of Nôtre Dame, the bells of which were tolling minutely the dirge for a passing soul.