Richard, basking in the noon-day of regal favour, of a sudden felt a cloud spread athwart his sunshine, and a chill take place of the glowing warmth. The complaints of his followers, principally of Lady Brampton, opened his eyes; for the king and princes, on the eve of betraying him, were in manner kinder than ever. First, Queen Anne asked this lady, if it were not the duke's intention to repair to Flanders, to claim the support of the Lady Margaret. It seemed as if nothing was to be spoken of but Brussels, the Low Countries, Maximilian of Austria, and, above all, the virtues and sagacity of the illustrious widow of Charles the Rash. In youth we are slow to understand the covert language of duplicity. Frion was next put in requisition; he arrived in Paris after ten days' absence, with an invitation to her so-named nephew from the duchess of Burgundy; and when, from the disinclination of the French to an act of glaring inhospitality, and of the English so to pain the confiding spirit of their prince, he was still kept darkling, suddenly one night his friend, the sire de Concressault, visited him. He brought many sugared words from his sovereigns; but the end was, that their ever dear friend, and most honoured guest, the duke of York, would render them special pleasure, if, for some short time, he would visit Brussels. The fiery spirit of youth blazed forth at a dismission, still more when Concressault added, that horses were already prepared, and everything arranged for his immediate departure. To qualify this insult, Concressault could best bring his own warm, affectionate feelings. He loved the English prince, and by the frankness of his explanations, soothed him, while he made the wound deeper, by showing whence it was directed, and that Henry Tudor's was the the master-hand.
This name calmed York by elevating his thoughts above the actual evil. "It is well, my lord: I shall obey," he said; "I had forgotten myself; and your monarch's kindness was an opiate to my unripened purpose. I might have lived his happy truest; reigning over the English hearts around me, forgetful, like Dan Ulysse of old in the Lotus land, of my native isle, and rightful kingdom, I thank my enemy he has not permitted this: his insults rouse me; his injuries place the sword in my hand; on him fall the harm."
The French sovereigns did all they could to salve this ill-favoured wound. The duke of Orleans visited York at the moment of his departure; his English partizans were loaded with presents; he quitted France; and, on the day following, the treaty of peace with England was signed.
Pride, indignation, and heroic resolve sustained the duke under this insult; but violent, angry emotion was foreign to his dispo-
