but growing stronger as she went on, "I left my child, my Guilbert, in
his bed, with Dormy Jamais to watch beside him, while I went to my boat
which lies far from my hut. I left Dormy Jamais with the child because I
was afraid--because I had been afraid, these three days past, that Philip
d'Avranche would steal him from me. I was gone but half an hour; it was
dark when I returned. I found the door open, I found Dormy Jamais lying
unconscious on the floor, and my child's bed empty. My child was gone.
He was stolen from me by Philip d'Avranche, Duc de Bercy."

"What proof have you that it was the Duc de Bercy?" asked the Bailly.

"I have told your honour that Dormy Jamais was there. He struck Dormy
Jamais to the ground, and rode off with my child."

The Bailly sniffed.

"Dormy Jamais is a simpleton--an idiot."

"Then let the Prince speak," she answered quickly. She turned and looked
Philip in the eyes. He did not answer a word. He had not moved since
she entered the court-room. He kept his eyes fixed on her, save for one
or two swift glances towards the jurats. The crisis of his life had
come. He was ready to meet it now: anything would be better than all he
had gone through during the past ten days. In mad impulse he had stolen
the child, with the wild belief that through it he could reach Guida,
could bring her to him. For now this woman who despised him, hated him,
he desired more than all else in the world. Ambition has her own means
of punishing. For her gifts of place or fortune she puts some impossible
hunger in the soul of the victim which leads him at last to his own
destruction. With all the world conquered there is still some mystic