fear for his
personal safety on account of the alliance between France and the
Emperor, intends to go to England. Should he do so, I shall lose this
opportunity of laying my sorrows at the feet of the Vicar of Jesus
Christ. To be so near the only person who can aid me in my misfortunes,
and yet not see him, will be an additional trial. You, Count, can
relieve my unhappiness by consenting to accompany me to Laon."

"What do you ask me to do?" said Erwin. "I cannot leave the Count of
Champagne, without violating all the rules of courtesy and incurring my
sovereign's displeasure; but I will do all in my power to persuade him
to hasten his journey."

"Your efforts will be vain. The Count of Champagne is merely a
statesman who is influenced by reasons of political expediency, but not
by pity for the sufferings of a stranger."

"Still I will try."

"You will lose your time; but, perhaps, when you see my face, you will
consent to do what you have refused to a mere unknown."

She raised her veil;--Clemence, Duchess of Saxony, pale and dejected,
stood before him, the living image of grief.

"Great God!" he cried, "can it be you, noble lady? You, the most
powerful princess of the Empire, here, unprotected, without the retinue
which belongs of right to the Duchess of Saxony and Bavaria!"

"Calm yourself," she answered. "What are rank and dignities? I am
nothing now but a poor, divorced wife, who implores your aid and pity."

"It is true then? That infamous deed, of which they spoke so
cautiously, has really been consummated?" cried Erwin, indignantly.
"Duke of Saxony, they call thee 'the Lion,' but thou art only a lion in
cruelty! Henry, thou art an unnatural husband, a prince without honor,
the disgrace of knighthood!"

Rechberg's eyes flashed, and his hand sought his sword-hilt, as though
he would chastise the crime.

"Restrain yourself, do not blame him," said Clemence. "The fault is
entirely theirs who have led him astray, and estranged his heart from
the sentiments of duty."

"Not at all, noble Duchess; your excuses only render him more guilty.
But tell me how such iniquity could be perpetrated under the very eyes
of the Emperor? Why this visit to the Pope? Is not our sovereign the
guardian of our rights? Why did you not appeal to him?"

"I have done so, but in vain! Frederic pities my fate, but he neither
can, nor will defend my rights."

"You say that he cannot?"

"Those were his own words. The marriage is