'Madame Alois of France is there.'

The Count of Saint-Pol put his tongue in his cheek.

'Oho!' he said, 'Oho! That is how it stands? So she is to be cuckoo,
hey?' He sat square and intent for a moment or two, working his mouth
like a man who chews a straw. Then he slapped his big hand on his knee,
and rose up. 'If I cannot spike this wheel of vice, trust me never. By
my soul, a plot indeed. Oh, horrible, horrible thief!' He turned
gnashing upon his brother. 'Now, Eustace, what do you say to your
greatest knight in the world? And what now of your sister, hey? Little
fool, do you not catch the measure of it now? Two honey years of Jehane
Saint-Pol, gossamer pledges of mouth and mouth, of stealing fingers,
kiss and clasp; but for the French King's daughter--pish! the thing of
naught they have made her--the sacrament of marriage, the treaty, the
dowry-fee. Oh, heaven and earth, Eustace, answer me if you can.'

All three were moved in their several ways: the Count red and blinking,
Eustace red and trembling, Jehane white as a cloth, trembling also, but
very silent. The word was with the younger man.

'I know nothing of all this, upon my word, my lord,' he said, confused.
'I love Count Richard, I love my sister. There may have been that which,
had I loved but one, I had condemned in the other. I know not, but'--he
saw Jehane's marble face, and lifted his hand up--'by my hope, I will
never believe it. In love they came together, my lord; in love, says
Jehane, they have parted. I have heard little of Madame Alois, but my
thought is, that kings and the sons of kings may marry kings' daughters,
yet not in the way of love.'