I am sure evil will come of it," pleaded Hymbercourt.
"I have considered," answered the duke. "Let me hear no more of this
rubbish. Two women dinning it into my ears morning, noon, and night are
quite enough for my peace of mind. I hear constantly, 'Dear father,
don't kill me. Spare your daughter,' and 'Dear my lord, I beg you not to
sacrifice the princess, whom I so love.' God's mercy! I say I am tired
of it! This marriage shall take place at once! Now, now, now, do you
hear, Hymbercourt? Tell the bishop to write this letter in English. We
will make the draught as bitter as possible for Louis. He hates the
sight of an English word, and small wonder. Direct the bishop to make
the letter short and to the point. Tell him to say the marriage shall
take place _now_. Have him use the word _now_. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," answered Hymbercourt.
"Order him to fetch the missive immediately to the apartments of the
duchess. It shall be read, signed, and despatched in the presence of my
daughter and my wife, so that they may know what they have to expect.
I'll see that I'm bothered no more with their tears and their senseless
importunities."
"I'll carry out your instructions," said Hymbercourt, bowing and taking
his leave.
The duke went to his wife's parlor and fell moodily into a chair. The
duchess was sitting on a divan, and the princess was weeping in her
arms. After a long silence, broken only by Mary's half-smothered sobs,
the duke turned sharply upon the women:--
"For the love of God, cease your miserable whimpering," growled his
lordship.
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