in a pouch ready for sealing.
Yolanda stopped sobbing that she might hear the document that touched so
closely on her fate. Her tear-stained face, with its childlike pathos,
but served to increase her father's anger.

"Read, my Lord Bishop! Body of me, why stand you there like a wooden
quintain?" exclaimed the duke. "By all the gods, you are slow! Read,
I say!"

"With pleasure, my lord," answered the bishop.

"To His Majesty, King Louis of France, Charles, Duke of Burgundy and
Count of Charolois, sends this Greeting:--

"His Grace of Burgundy would recommend himself to His Majesty of France,
and would beg to inform the most puissant King Louis that the said
Charles, Duke of Burgundy, will march at the head of a Burgundian army
within three weeks from the date of these presents, against the Swiss
cantons, with intent to punish the said Swiss for certain depredations.
Therefore, the said Charles, Duke of Burgundy and Count of Charolois,
begs that His Majesty of France will now move toward the immediate
consummation of the treaty existing between Burgundy and France, looking
to the marriage of the Princess Mary, Mademoiselle de Burgundy, with the
princely Dauphin, son to King Louis; and to these presents said Charles,
Duke of Burgundy, requests the honor of an early reply.

"We recommend Your Majesty to the protection of God, the Blessed Virgin,
and the Saints."

"Words, words, my Lord Bishop," said Charles. "Why waste them on a
graceless hypocrite?"

"I thought only to be courteous," returned the bishop.

"Why should we show King Louis courtesy?" asked the duke. "Is it because
we give him our daughter to be the wife of his bandy-shanked,
half-witted son? There is small need for courtesy, my Lord Bishop. We
could not insult this King Louis, should we try, while he sees an
advantage to be gained. Give me the letter, and I will sign it, though I
despise your whimpering courtesy, as you call it."

Charles took the letter, and, going to a table near a window, drew up a
chair.

"Give me a quill," he said, addressing the bishop. "Did you not bring
one, my lord?"

"Your Grace--Your Grace," began the bishop, apologetically.

"Do you think I am a snivelling scrivener, carrying quill and ink-well
in my gown?" asked the duke. "Go to your parlor and fetch ink and
quill," said Charles, pointing with the folded missive toward Yolanda.

"A page will fetch the quill and ink, my lord," suggested the duchess.

"Go!" cried