For the truth of these facts, I need do no more than refer the reader to the history of that period. For the probability of them, let him look around; he will, I dare say, find some things inducing him to think, that though such conduct may be unnatural, it is not improbable.

Let it be remembered, too, that the King was acting under false impressions. He had got himself entrammelled in the nets of a designing and unprincipled woman, who, by dint of compliance with his temper, caprice, and weaknesses, had at length acquired a supreme ascendancy over his mind, and made a footstool of him, whose footstool she had been. Inez began humbly, proceeded artfully, and ended by making the King, not only a slave in his own palace, but by so infuriating his mind against his most able counsellor and fondest friend, that, refusing to let him have a fair trial, he forced him, from mere despair and scorn of the injustice, into crimes, which, though they may not be justified-for no crime can be so-nullum scelus habet rationem-are yet scarcely to be wondered at, — compelled him to seek friendship from the enemies of his

country, and to bring them down in such shoals upon her, that, deluged with blood, she was placed within a hairbreadth of that utter destruction, from which she, apparently, was only saved by an immediate interposition of Heaven.

Another reason may be added to the foregoing. It is the haughtiness (more visible, perhaps, in manner, than apparent in his words) with which, from nearly the beginning, he had treated the council in general; and which had grown greater and greater as the trial proceeded : that is to say, just when in all worldly prudence, it became more and more incumbent on him to court its favour. His indiscretion was not confined to taunts upon the members of the council, but he had also indulged his passion with sneers even against the King himself-how hard is it to hate, to scorn, and to be silent!-at which, Philip conceived such a bitter detestation of him, that flinging at once aside all memory of Robert's former services and friendship, as well as of his own fondness for him, he became obstinately determined to suffer matters to take

their course, and proceed on to the extremity which has been related.

Returning to his own apartments, Robert first related to the Countess the sad events of the morning's business. Then—

"We may no longer stay beneath thy brother's roof, Jeanne," he said,-" more than that, we, that is I will quit France. Thou shalt tarry here-not, however, in the Palace."

"Oh! Robert, my love, what speakest thou of? I not go with thee?-wherefore may I not? But wherefore shouldst thou go at all? Thou art not banished, yet speakest thou just as if necessitated to leave thy country. Whither wouldst thou go?"

"I'll answer thy three interrogations, Jeanne, in three words," he replied, speaking in that tone of exhilaration which is sometimes the effect of mere despair. Firstly, Wherefore

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should I leave France? Because the King of France hath wronged me; which being, and there being none to right me, I must needs right myself. Secondly, -Why mayst thou

not go with me? Because I have some business to perform 'twould sit but ill upon thy sex to meddle with, my pretty pet. Thirdly, -Whither shall I go? Marry I might have found it hard to answer this, had not thy brother kindly pointed out a spot. Most graciously hath he given me choice of two-Bruxelles, where, from the Duke's great friendship to him, I do make sure of gentle usage; and England, where I hope to find that Edward hath not yet forgot the tender love he bore to all pertaining to him."

"Oh! Robert, what meaneth this wild talk? Thou shalt not stir without me. Nay! thou shalt not stir at all.-Thou shalt tarry here. My brother's anger will soon end-he will see his error, repent him of it, and do thee justice. I know he will.-Thou must not go."

"By my good Halidom, but that I must," replied Robert, with great rapidity of speech."Talk not to me of Philip's penitence. I know too much of him to trust that. Penitence, forsooth! No! Philip piqueth him on his strong head;-by this term, honoureth he his head!

although perchance he better should have saidwrong head. Repent!-why, 'twould be beneath his dignity!"

"I own, Robert, that my brother is apt to be led astray by passion, but by the side of this defect he hath many virtues-he is good and generous."

"Ay, ay, ay, Jeanne, I know all about that -would only that he would show me some of it. Why for more than two months past hath he used me so like a dog? Then that caitiff there -Flanders! he seemeth to have given his heart to him. No, Jeanne, go I must."

"I ever bade thee to have a care of that man," the Countess answered, without seeming to have heard his last words-" But"

"So did Heaven or Satan, I know not which, but 'twas in a dream-and the admonition came so late that it might as well have not been given at all. Dost remember the dream I had at St. Omer, Jeanne? Hark ye, Jeanne! I must go. Louis hath been the means of bringing scath on me! 'Tis well for him his betters had no better wit! Had not Philip wronged