the court, his sunny hair uncovered, and
bowing with such becoming courtesy, that Fru Astrida pressed her son's
arm, and bade him say if their little Duke was not the fairest and
noblest child in Christendom.

With black looks, Lothaire stepped from the litter, took no heed of the
little Duke, but, roughly calling his attendant, Charlot, to follow him,
he marched into the hall, vouchsafing neither word nor look to any as he
passed, threw himself into the highest seat, and ordered Charlot to bring
him some wine.

Meanwhile, Richard, looking into the litter, saw Carloman crouching in a
corner, sobbing with fright.

"Carloman!--dear Carloman!--do not cry. Come out! It is I--your own
Richard! Will you not let me welcome you?"

Carloman looked, caught at the outstretched hand, and clung to his neck.

"Oh, Richard, send us back! Do not let the savage Danes kill us!"

"No one will hurt you. There are no Danes here. You are my guest, my
friend, my brother. Look up! here is my own Fru Astrida."

"But my mother said the Northmen would kill us for keeping you captive.
She wept and raved, and the cruel men dragged us away by force. Oh, let
us go back!"

"I cannot do that," said Richard; "for you are the King of Denmark's
captives, not mine; but I will love you, and you shall have all that is
mine, if you will only not cry, dear Carloman. Oh, Fru Astrida, what
shall I do? You comfort him--" as the poor boy clung sobbing to him.

Fru Astrida advanced to take his hand, speaking in a soothing voice, but
he shrank and started with a fresh cry of terror--her tall figure, high
cap, and wrinkled face, were to him witch-like, and as she knew no
French, he understood not her kind words. However, he let Richard lead
him into the hall, where Lothaire sat moodily in the chair, with one leg
tucked under him, and his finger in his mouth.

"I say, Sir Duke," said he, "is there nothing to be had in this old den
of yours? Not a drop of Bordeaux?"

Richard tried to repress his anger at this very uncivil way of speaking,
and answered, that he thought there was none, but there was plenty of
Norman cider.

"As if I would taste your mean peasant drinks! I bade them bring my
supper--why does it not come?"

"Because you are not master here," trembled on Richard's lips, but he
forced it back, and answered that it would soon be ready, and Carloman
looked imploringly at his brother, and said, "Do not make them angry,
Lothaire."