It befell, after we had dwelt three years in Paris, and my Duchess was
just turned of fifteen, that there was tumult at the court. King Charles
the Well-beloved, whose fits of madness caused so much havoc (owing to
the mischief wrought by his uncles when he was too ill of mind and body
to rule himself) was again out of his mind.
The Seigneur de la Rivière, whom my Duchess had ever loved since he had
arranged her marriage and fetched her to Paris to my Lord the Duc de
Berry, was, by the order of the Duc de Burgundy, seized and held to die.
His friends, lest they too should suffer for’t, feared to help him. The
King, as hath been said, was ill; the Queen cared not what happened so
long as she was not irked. But my Duchess clenched her little hand and
saith,—
“He shall not die!”
Just how to serve him she knew not; so she cometh to her Lord, the Duc
de Berry, and cast herself on her knees before him.
“Oh, dear my lord,” cried she, sobbing, “this man who hath done no
wrong, and whom we know and love, must die, since none but I durst speak
for him.”