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Updated: September 14, 2025
"If the Count of Montcorbier win the heart of Lady Katherine de Vaucelles within the week, he shall escape the gallows and carry his lady love where he pleases." "On your word of honour, sire?" "My word is my honour, Master François. Well?"
O Absalom!" growled Gilles; "have you, then, no respect for churchmen?" With an oath, Sermaise ran up. "Now, may God die twice," he panted, "if I have not found the skulker at last! There is a crow needs picking between us two, Montcorbier." Hemmed in by his enemies, Francois temporized. "Why do you accost me thus angrily, Master Philippe?" he babbled. "What harm have I done you?
But the matter has to my eyes a more dubious air. A pardon necessary for Des Loges and another for Montcorbier? and these two the same person? and one or both of them known by the alias of Villon, however honestly come by? and lastly, in the heat of the moment, a fourth name thrown out with an assured countenance? A ship is not to be trusted that sails under so many colours.
Louis waved him impatiently aside, and leaning over the railing, spoke: "My Lord Constable, and you, brave soldiers, the King of France thanks you for your gift. Victory was indeed assured you by the justice of our cause. My Lord of Montcorbier, you may promise these brave fellows that their sovereign will remember them."
A queer smile wrinkled the king's malign face. "Not quite," he said. "When he wakes, he is to be assured that he is the Count of Montcorbier and Grand Constable of France. His antics may amuse me, his lucky star may serve me, and his winning tongue may help to avenge me on a certain froward maid, who disdained me. Send me here Olivier." Tristan bowed gravely and turned on his heel.
He was like a man who, long playing at blind-man's-buff, suddenly has the bandage plucked from his eyes and stands dazzled and blinking in the sunlight. After all, he was not the Count of Montcorbier; after all, he was not the Grand Constable of France; after all, he was only a masquerading beggar who had won the heart of a lady under false colours; who had triumphed by flying a false flag.
Her mouth hardened as she thought of the man she hated and of her own failure to thrust him from her path, but it softened again on the next words of the king. "Thibaut is no longer in office. Try your luck with his successor." She leaned forward beseechingly. "His name, sire?" Louis looked at her thoughtfully. "He is the Count of Montcorbier," he said.
He had not, you must understand, seen Catherine for three hours. Three hours! three eternities rather, and each one of them spent in Malebolge. Coming to a patch of moonlight, Francois paused there and cut an agile caper, as he thought of that approaching time when he might see Catherine every day. "Madame Francois de Montcorbier," he said, tasting each syllable with gusto.
What was that you were telling me about the priest with six hundred crowns in his cupboard?" Rene slapped him on the shoulder. "Now," said he, "you talk like a man." He opened the door at the back and cried: "Colin, you and Petit Jehan and that pig Tabary may come out. I have the honor, messieurs, to offer you a new Companion of the Cockleshell Master Francois de Montcorbier."
Then from above a delicate and cool voice was audible. "You have mistaken the window, Monsieur de Montcorbier. Ysabeau de Montigny dwells in the Rue du Fouarre." "Ah, cruel!" sighed Francois. "Will you never let that kite hang upon the wall?" "It is all very well to groan like a bellows. Guillemette Moreau did not sup here for nothing.
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