She led Beatrix to the door and lifted the curtain, so that through the wooden panels the girl could hear the talking of many voices, and the clank of steel. Then Eleanor brought her back. "But he would not take me," she said, "and he warned me of my danger." "No wonder--he loves you!" "He does not love me, though I love him, and he has said so to-night. And I know that he loves you and is faithful to you--" Beatrix laughed wildly. "Faithful! He? There is no faith in his greatest oath, nor in his smallest word!" "You are mad, child; he never lied in all his life to me or you--he could not lie." "Then he has deceived you, too--Queen, Duchess; you are only a woman, after all, and he has made sport of you, as he has of me!" Again she laughed, half furiously. "If he has deceived me he has indeed deceived you," answered Eleanor, "for he has told me very plainly that he loves you. And now I will not stand between you and him, even in the mistake you made. I love him, yes. I have loved him enough to give him up, because he loves you. I love him so well that I will not take his warning and save myself from the King's anger, and I know not what he and his monks will do to me. Good-by, Sir Gilbert Warde--Beatrix, good-by." "This is some comedy," answered the girl, exasperated. "No--by the living truth, it is no comedy," answered the Queen. She looked once more into Gilbert's face, and then turned away, stately and sad. With one movement she drew aside the great curtain, and with the next she opened wide the door, and the loud clamour of the knights and men-at-arms came in like a wave. Then it ceased suddenly, as Eleanor spoke to them in clear tones. "I am the King's prisoner. Take me to him!" There was silence for a moment, and then the Gascons who had fought with the King and his men cried out fiercely. "We will not let you go! We will not let our Duchess go!" They feared some evil for her, and were loyal men to her, hating the King. But Eleanor raised her hand to motion them back, for their faces were fierce, and their hands were on their swords. "Make way for me, if you will not take me to him," she said proudly. Then Sanzay, her kinsman, stepped before the rest, and spoke. "Madam," he said, "the Duchess of Gascony cannot be prisoner to the King of France, while there are Gascons. If your Grace will go to the King, we will go also, and we shall see who is to be a prisoner." At this there was a great shout that rang up to the vault of the lofty vestibule, and down the stone steps and out into the courtyard. Eleanor smiled serenely, for she knew her men. "Go with me, then," she said, "and see that no bodily harm comes to me. But in this matter I shall do the King's will." In the room behind, the words echoed clearly, and Beatrix turned to Gilbert. "You see," she said, "it is but a play that you have thought of between you, and nothing more." "Can you not believe us?" he asked reproachfully.