"We have, my lord. We shall be proud to serve under the banner of so
brave a prince," I answered.

"'We have' would have been sufficient, Sir Karl," answered the duke,
still surly from the dregs of his wrath. "We hear so many soft words
from France that we despise them in the mouths of honest men."

The duke then turned to his seneschal, De Vergy, and spoke in tones that
were heard all over the room:--

"My lord, Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg, and Sir Karl de Pitti have
consented to join our banners. Enroll them in places of honor, my Lord
Seneschal. See that they are supplied with horses, accoutrements, and
tents for themselves and their squires, and direct my Lord Treasurer to
pay to them upon demand a sum of money of which he shall be duly
notified."

When the duke stopped speaking, a murmur of approval ran through the
audience--though the Italians had no part in it. The murmur grew
clamorous and soon a mighty shout filled the vaulted roof:--

"Long life to the noble Count of Hapsburg! Burgundy and Styria forever!"

To me, the words seemed delightfully prophetic. Soon afterward the
audience was dismissed, and Max and I had the great honor of being asked
to join the duke's council. A council to the Duke of Burgundy was indeed
a veritable fifth wheel. He made his own plans and, right or wrong,
clung to them. He would, on rare occasions, listen to Hymbercourt,--a
man of few words, who gave advice as if he were lending a crown,--but