At one side of a small square or open space, in the town of Ghent, rose a large pile of very ancient architecture, called the Graevensteen, for many centuries the residence of the Counts of Flanders. Covering a wide extent of ground with its walls and towers, the building ran back almost to the banks of the LiÈve, over which a bridge was thrown, communicating with the castle on one side, and the suburbs on the other. In front, towards the square, and projecting far before the rest of the pile, was a massive castellated gate of stone, flanked by high towers, rising to a considerable height. The aspect of the whole was gloomy and stern; but the gay scene before the gates--the guards, the attendants, the pages in the bright-coloured and splendid costumes, particularly affected by the house of Burgundy--relieved the forbidding aspect of the dark portal, contrasting brilliantly, though strangely, with its sombre and prison-like air.

At a small light wicket, in a sort of balustrade, or screen, of richly sculptured stone, which separated the palace from the rest of the square, stood two or three persons, some of them in arms, others dressed in the garb of peace; and Richard of Woodville, with his guide, approaching one who seemed to be the porter, inquired if Sir Philip de Morgan could be spoken with?

"Pass in," was the brief reply:--"the door in the court, on the left of the gate;" and walking on, they took their way under the deep arch, and found in one of the towers a small low door of massive oak, studded with huge bosses of iron. No one was in attendance; and this door being partially open, was pushed back by Richard of Woodville, who bade the guide wait below, while he mounted the narrow stairs, the foot of which was seen before him. At the first story another open door presented itself, displaying a little anteroom, with two or three servants seated round a table, playing at cross and pile, a game which, by this time, had descended from kings to lacqueys. Entering at once, the young gentleman, using the French tongue, demanded to speak with Sir Philip de Morgan; but the servants continued their game with that sort of cold indifference which Englishmen of an inferior class have, in all ages, been accustomed to show towards foreigners: one of them replying, in very bad French, and hardly lifting his head from the game, "He can't be spoken with--he is busy!" adding in English to his fellow, "Play on, Wilfred."

"How now, knave!" exclaimed Richard of Woodville in his own tongue; "Methinks you are saucy! Rise this moment, and inform your master that a gentleman from the King of England desires to speak with him."

The man instantly started up, replying, "I beg your pardon, sir. I did not know you. I thought it was some of those Flemish hogs, come to speak about the vellum."

"Learn to be civil to all men, sir," replied Richard of Woodville; "and that a serving man is as much below an honest trader as the trader is below his lord. Go and do as I have told you."

The lacquey retired by a door opposite, leaving a smile upon the faces of his fellows at the lecture he had received; and after being absent not more than a minute, he re-opened the door, saying, "Follow me, noble sir; Sir Philip will see you."

Passing through another small chamber, in which a pale thin man in a black robe, with a shaven crown, was sitting, busily copying some papers, Richard of Woodville was ushered into a larger room, poorly furnished. At a table in the midst, was seated a corpulent, middle-aged personage, with a countenance which at first sight seemed dull and heavy. The nose, the cheeks, the lips, were fat and protruding; and the thick shaggy eyebrows hung so far over the eyes, as almost to conceal them. The forehead, however, was large and fine, somewhat prominent just about the brow, and over the nose; and when the eye could be seen, though small and grey, there was a bright and piercing light in it, which frequently accompanies high intellect. He was dressed in the plainest manner, and in dark colours, with a furred gown over his shoulders, and a small black velvet cap upon his head; nor would it have been easy for any one unacquainted with his real character to divine that in that coarse and somewhat repulsive form was to be found one of the greatest diplomatists of his age.

Sir Philip de Morgan rose as soon as Richard of Woodville entered, bowing his head with a courtly inclination, and desiring his visitor to be seated. As soon as the servant had closed the door, he began the conversation himself, saying, "My knave tells me, sir, you come from the King. It might have been more prudent not to say so."

"Why, good faith, Sir Philip," replied Woodville, "without saying so, there was but little chance of seeing you; for you have some saucy vermin here, who thought fit to pay but little attention to my first words; and moreover, as I have letters from the King for the Count de Charolois, which must be publicly delivered, concealment was of little use, and could last but a short time."

"That alters the case," answered Sir Philip de Morgan. "As to my knaves, they must be taught to use their eyes, though a little insolence is not altogether objectionable; but you mentioned letters for the Count--I presume you have some for me?"

"I have," answered Richard of Woodville, putting his hand into the gibeciÈre, or pouch, which was slung over his right shoulder and under his left arm, by an embroidered band. "This, from the King, sir;" and he placed Henry's letter in the envoy's hand.

Sir Philip de Morgan took it, cut the silk with his dagger, and drew forth the two sheets which it contained. The first which he looked at was brief; and the second, which was folded and sealed, with two words written in the corner, he did not open, but laid aside.

"So, Master Woodville," he said, after this examination, "I find you have come to win your golden spurs in Burgundy. What lies in me to help you, I will do. To-morrow I will make you known to the Count de Charolois. I was well acquainted with your good father, and your lady mother, too. She was the sister, if I recollect, of the good knight of Dunbury, a very noble gentleman;" and then, turning from the subject, he proceeded, with quiet and seemingly unimportant questions, to gain all the knowledge that he could from Richard of Woodville regarding the court of England, and the character, conduct, and popularity of the young King. But his visitor, as the reader may have seen in earlier parts of this true history, though frank and free in his own case, and where no deep interests were concerned, was cautious and on his guard in matters of greater moment. He was not sent thither to babble of the King's affairs; and though he truly represented his Sovereign as highly popular with all classes, and deservedly so, Sir Philip de Morgan gained little farther information from him on any of the many points, in regard to which the diplomatist would fain have penetrated the monarch's designs before he thought fit to communicate them.

The high terms in which Henry had been pleased to speak of the gentleman who bore his letter, naturally induced the envoy to set down his silence to discretion, rather than to want of knowledge; and he observed, after his inquiries had been parried more than once, "You are, I see, prudent and reserved in your intelligence, Master Woodville."

"It is easy to be so, fair sir," answered his visitor, "when one has nothing to communicate. Doubtless the King has told you all, without leaving any part of his will for me to expound. At least, if he did, he informed me not of it; and I have nothing more to relate."

"What! not one word of France?" asked the knight, with a smile.

"Not one!" replied Woodville, calmly.

The envoy smiled again. "Well," he said, "then tomorrow, at noon, I will go with you to the Count, if you will be here. Doubtless we shall hear more of your errand, from the letters you bear to that noble prince."

"I do not know," replied Woodville, rising; "but at the same time, I would ask you to send some one with me to find out the dwelling of one Sir John Grey, if he be now in Ghent."

"Sir John Grey!" said de Morgan, musing, as if he had never heard the name before. "I really cannot tell you where to find such a person: there is none of that name here. Is he a friend of your own?"

"No!" answered Richard of Woodville; "I never saw him."

"Then you have letters for him, I presume," rejoined the other. "What says the superscription? Does it not give you more clearly his place of abode? This town contains many a street and lane. I have only been here these eight hours since several years; and he may well be in the place and I not know it."

Woodville drew forth the King's letter, and gazed at the writing on the back; while Sir Philip de Morgan, who had risen likewise, took a silent step round, and glanced over his arm. "Ha! the King's own writing," he said. "Sir John Grey! I remember; there is, I believe, an old countryman of ours, living near what is called the Sas de Gand, of the name of Mortimer. He has been here some years; and if there be a man in Ghent who can tell you where to find this Sir John Grey, 'tis he. Nay, I think you may well trust the letter in his hands to deliver. Stay, I will send one of my knaves with you, who knows the language and the manners of this people well."

"I thank you, noble sir," replied his visitor; "but I have a man waiting for me, who will conduct me, if you will but repeat the direction that you gave--near the Sas de Gand, I think you said?"

"Just so," replied Sir Philip de Morgan, drily; "but not quite so far. It is a house called the house of Waeerschoot;--but it is growing late; in less than an hour it will be dark. You had better delay your visit till to-morrow, when you will be more sure of admission; for he is of a moody and somewhat strange fantasy, and not always to be seen."

"I will try, at all events, to-night," replied Richard of Woodville. "I can but go back tomorrow, if I fail. Farewell, Sir Philip, I will be with you at noon;"--and, after all the somewhat formal courtesies and leave-takings of the day, he retired from the chamber of the King's envoy, and sought the guide who had conducted him thither.

The man was soon found, talking to one of the inferior attendants of the Count of Charolois; and, calling him away, Richard of Woodville directed him to lead to the house which Sir Philip de Morgan had indicated. The guide replied, in a somewhat dissatisfied tone, that it was a long way off; but a word about his reward soon quickened his movements; and issuing through the gates of the city, they followed a lane through the suburbs on the northern side of the Lys.

A number of fine houses were built at that time beyond the actual walls of Ghent; for the frequent commotions which took place in the town, and the little ceremony with which the citizens were accustomed to take the life of any one against whom popular wrath had been excited, rendered it expedient in the eyes of many of the nobles of Flanders to lodge beyond the dangerous fortifications, which were as often used to keep in an enemy as to keep one out. Many of these were modern buildings; but others were of a far more ancient date; and at length, as it was growing dusk, the young Englishman's guide stopped at the gate of one of the oldest houses they had yet seen, and struck two or three hard blows upon the large heavy door. For some time nothing but a hollow sound made answer; and looking up, Richard of Woodville examined the mansion, which seemed going fast into a state of decay. It had once been one of the strong battlemented dwellings of some feudal lord; and heavy towers, and numberless turrets, seemed to show that the date of its first erection went back to a time when the city of Ghent, confined to its own walls, had left the houses which were built beyond them surrounded only by the uncultivated fields and pastures, watered by the Scheld, the Lys, and the LiÈve. The walls still remained solid, though the sharp cutting of the round arches had mouldered away in the damp atmosphere; and the casements above--for externally there were none on the lower story--were, in many instances, destitute of even the small lozenges of glass, which, in those days, were all that even princely mansions could boast.

After waiting more than a reasonable time, the guide knocked loud again, and, looking round for a bell, at length found a rope hanging under the arch, which he pulled violently. While it was still in his hand, a stout Flemish wench appeared, and demanded what they wanted, that they made so much noise? Her words, indeed, were unintelligible to the young Englishman; but, guessing their import, he directed the guide to inquire if an Englishman, of the name of Mortimer, lived there? A nod of the head, which accompanied her reply, showed him that it was in the affirmative; and he then, by the same intervention, told her to let her master know, that a gentleman from England wished to see him.

The girl laughed, and shook her head, saying something which, when it came to be translated, proved to be, that she knew he would not see any one of the kind; but, though it was of no use, she would go and inquire; and away she consequently ran with good-humoured speed, showing, as she went, a pair of fat, white legs, with no other covering than that with which nature had furnished them.

She returned in a minute, with a look of surprise; and bade the strangers follow her, which they did, into the court. There, however, Woodville again directed his guide to wait, and, under the pilotage of the Flemish maid, entered upon a sea of passages, till at length, catching him familiarly by the hand to guide him in the darkness that reigned within, she led him to a flight of stairs, and opened a door at the top. Before him lay a small room, ornamented with richly carved oak, the lines and angles of which caught faintly the light proceeding from a lamp upon the table; and, standing in the midst of the room, with a look of eager impatience, was a man, somewhat advanced in life, though younger than Woodville had expected to see. His hair, it is true, was white, and his beard, which he wore long, was nearly so likewise; but he was upright, and seemingly firm in limb and muscle.^[6] His face had furrows on it, too; but they seemed more those of care and thought than age; and his eye was clear, undimmed, and flashing.

"Well, sir! well!" he said in English, as soon as Richard of Woodville entered; "What news?--Why has she not come herself?"

"You are, I fear, under a mistake," replied the young Englishman. "I came to you for information--not to give any."

The other cast himself back into his seat, and covered his eyes with his hands, as Woodville spoke. The next moment he withdrew his hands, and the whole expression of his countenance was altered. Nothing appeared but a look of dull and thoughtful reserve, with a slight touch of disappointment.

As he spoke not, Richard of Woodville went on to say, "Sir Philip de Morgan directed me, sir--"

"Ay!--he has his eye ever upon me," exclaimed the other, interrupting him. "What does he seek--what is there now to blame?"

"Nothing, that I am aware of," answered Woodville; "it is on my own business he directed me here; not on yours or his."

"Indeed!" said the other, with a softened look. "And what is there for your pleasure, sir?"

"He informed me," replied his visitor, "that if there be a man in Ghent, it is yourself, who can tell me where to find one Sir John Grey, an English knight, supposed to be resident here."

"And may I ask your business with him?" inquired Mortimer, coldly.

"Nay," answered Woodville; "that will be communicated to himself. I cannot see how it would stead you, to know aught concerning it."

"No!" replied Mortimer; "but it might stead him. A good friend, sir, to a man in danger, may stand like a barbican, as it were, before a fortress, encountering the first attack of the enemy. I say not that I know where Sir John Grey is to be found; but I do say, and at once, that I would not tell, if I did, till I had heard the motive of him who seeks him. He has been a wronged and persecuted man, sir; and it is fit that no indiscretion should lay him open to further injury."

Woodville fixed his eyes intently upon his companion's countenance; and, after a moment's pause, he said, in an assured tone, "I speak to Sir John Grey even now. Concealment is vain, sir, and needless; for I do but bring you a letter from the young King of England, which I promised to deliver with all speed; and if things be as I think, it will not prove so ungrateful to you as you may expect. Am I not right?--for I must have your own admission ere I give the letter."

"The letter!" repeated the other; and again a look of eagerness came over his countenance. "You bear a letter, then? You are keen, young man," he added; "but yet you look honest."

"I do assure you, sir," replied Woodville, "that I have no end or object on earth, but to give the letter with which I am charged to Sir John Grey himself. I am anxious, moreover, to do it speedily, for so I was directed; and I have therefore come to-night, without waiting for repose. If you be he, as I do believe, you may tell me so in safety, and rest upon the honour of an English gentleman."

"Honour!" said his companion, with a sad and bitter shake of the head. "I have no cause to trust in honour: it has become but a mere name, the meaning of which has been lost long ago, and each man interprets it as he likes best. In former times, honour was a thing as immutable as the diamond, which nought could change to any other form. 'Twas truth,--'twas right,--'twas the pure gold of the high heart. Now, alas! men have devised alloy; and the metal, be it as base as copper, passes current for the value that is stamped upon it by society. Honour is no longer independent of man's will; 'tis that which people call it, and no more. The liar, who, with a smooth face, wrongs his friend in the most tender point, is still a man of honour with the world: the traitor, who betrays his country or his king, so that it be for passion, and not gold, is still a man of honour, and will cut your throat if you deny it: the calumniator, who blasts another's reputation with a sneer, is still a man of honour if he's brave. Honour's a name that changes colour, like the Indian beast, according to the light it is viewed in. Now it is courage; now it is rank; now it is riches; now it is fine raiment, or a swaggering air. Once it was Truth, young sir."

"And is ever so, in reality," replied Richard of Woodville; "the rest are all counterfeits, which only pass with men who know no better. It is of this honour that I speak, sir. However, as you know me not, I cannot expect you to attribute to me qualities that are indeed now rare; yet, holding myself bound by that very honour which we speak of, to deliver the letter that I bear to no one but him for whom it was destined, unless you tell me you are indeed that person, I must carry it back with me."

"Stay!--what is your name?" demanded the other--"that may give me light."

"My name is Richard of Woodville," answered his visitor.

"Ha! Richard of Woodville!" cried the stranger, with a look of joy, grasping his hand warmly. "Give it me--give it me--quick! I am Sir John Grey. How fares she?--where is she?--why did she not come?"

"I know not of whom you speak," replied Woodville; "this letter is from the King;" and, drawing it forth, he put it into his companion's hand.

"From the King!" exclaimed Sir John Grey--"from the King!--a letter to me!"--and he held the packet to the lamp, and gazed on the superscription attentively. "True, indeed?" he said at length, cutting the silk. "'Our trusty and well-beloved!'--a style I have not heard for years;" and bending his head over it, he perused the contents, which were somewhat long.

Woodville gazed at his face while he read, and marked the light and shade of many varied emotions come across it. Now, the eye strained eagerly at the first lines, and the brow knit; now, a proud smile curled the lip; and now, the eyelids showed a tear. But presently, as he proceeded, all haughtiness passed away from his look--he raised his eyes to heaven, as if in thankfulness; and at the end let fall the paper on the table, and clasped his hands together, exclaiming, "Praise to thy name, Most Merciful! The dark hour has come to an end!"

Then stretching forth his open arms to Richard of Woodville, he said, "Let me take you to my heart, messenger of joy!--you have brought me life!"

"I am overjoyed to be that messenger, Sir John," replied Woodville; "but, in truth, I was ignorant of what I carried. I did but guess, indeed, from my knowledge of the King's great soul, that he would not be so eager that this should reach you soon, if the tidings it contained were evil."

"They are home to the exile," replied the knight; "wealth to the beggar; grace and station to the disgraced and fallen; the reversal of all his father's bitter acts; the generous outpouring of a true royal heart! Noble, noble prince! God requite me with misery eternal, if I do not devote every moment that remains of this short life to do you signal service. And you, too, my friend," he continued, taking his visitor's hand--"so you are the man who, choosing by the heart alone, setting rank, and wealth, and name aside, looking but to loveliness and worth, sought the hand of a poor and portionless girl--the daughter of a proscribed and banished fugitive?"

"Good faith, Sir John!" replied the young gentleman, gazing upon him with a look of no small surprise and pleasure, "I begin to see light; but I have been so long in darkness that my eyes are dazzled. Can it be that I see my fair Mary's father--the father of Mary Markham--in Sir John Grey?"

But the knight's attention had been turned back to the letter, with that abrupt transition which the mind is subject to, when suddenly moved by joy so unexpected as almost to be rendered doubtful by its very intensity. "I cannot believe it," he said; "yet, who should deceive me? It is royal, too, in every word."

"It is the King's own hand that wrote it," replied Richard of Woodville; "and if there be aught that is high and generous therein--aught that speaks a soul above the ordinary crowd--aught that is marked as fitting for a King, who values royalty but for extended power to do good and redress wrong--set it down with full assurance as a proof that it is Henry's own! But you have not answered me as to that dear lady."

"She is my child, Richard," said Sir John Grey; "and if you are worthy, as I believe you, she shall be your wife. You chose her in lowliness and poverty; she shall be yours in wealth and honour. But tell me more about her. When did you see her? Why has she not come?"

"The last question I cannot answer," replied Richard of Woodville; "for, though I heard her father had sent for her, I knew not who that father was, or where; but----"

"So, then, she never told you?" asked the knight.

"Never," answered Woodville, "nor my good uncle either; but I saw her some eight or nine days since in Westminster, well and happy. I have heard since, however, by a servant whom I sent up, that she and Sir Philip had returned in haste to Dunbury, upon some sudden news."

"Ay!--so then they have missed the men I sent," replied Sir John Grey. "I despatched a servant--the only one I had--three weeks since, together with some merchants, who were going to trade in London, and who promised on their return, which was to be without delay, to bring her with them."

"Stay!" exclaimed Woodville. "Had they not a freight of velvets and stuffs of gold?"

"The same," answered the knight. "What of them?"

"They were taken by pirates in the mouth of the Thames," replied Richard of Woodville. "I heard the news in Winchester, when I was purchasing housings for my horses. But be not alarmed for your dear child. She is safe. I saw her afterwards; and good Sir Philip seemed to marvel much, why some persons whom he expected had not yet arrived. Had he told me more, I could have given him tidings of them; put your mind at ease on her account, for she is still with Sir Philip."

"But that poor fellow, the servant!" answered the knight, sadly; "my heart is ill at rest for him. Misfortune teaches us to value things more justly than prosperity. A true and faithful friend, whatever be his station, is a treasure indeed, not to be lost without a bitter pang. I must thank God that my dear child is safe; yet I cannot forget him."

"They will put him to ransom with the rest," replied Richard of Woodville. "I heard they had carried the merchants and their vessel to some port in the north, and doubtless you will soon hear of him. I did not learn that there was any violence committed; for, though they are usually hard and cruel men, they are even more avaricious than bloodthirsty."

"God send it!" exclaimed Sir John Grey. "I wonder that your noble kinsman, when he heard that you were about to cross the sea, did not charge you with Mary's guidance hither. It would have been more safe."

"But you forget," replied Woodville, "that I was ignorant of all concerning her. I thought she was an orphan till within the last ten days--or, perhaps, not so well placed as that. Besides, my uncle would not countenance our love; and, indeed, that was his reason; for I remember he said, that he wished we had not been such fools as to be caught by one another's eyes; that it would have saved him much embarrassment."

Sir John Grey smiled, saying--"That is so much the man I left. He had even then outlived the memory of his own young days, when lady's love was all his thought but arms, and looked upon everything, but that lofty and more shadowy devotion to the fair, which was the soul of olden chivalry, as little better than youthful idleness. He kept you, then, even to the last, without knowledge of her fate and history? He did well, too, for so I wished it; but I will now tell you all; and there is not, indeed, much to say. I raised my lance, with the rest, for my sovereign, King Richard; was taken and pardoned; but swore no allegiance to one whom I could not but hold as an usurper. When occasion served again, I was not slack to do the same once more, and, with my friends, fought the lost battle of Shrewsbury. My life was saved by a poor faithful fellow of our army, who gave his own, I fear, for mine; and flying, more fortunately than others, I escaped to this land. Here I soon heard that I was proclaimed a traitor, my estate seized, my name attainted, and my child sought for to make her a ward of the crown, and to give her and the fortune which her mother inherited, to some minion of the court. She was then a mere child, and, by your uncle's kindly care, was taken first to Wales, and thence brought to his own house, where he has ever treated her as a daughter. I lingered on in this and other lands from year to year; and many an effort was made to entrap or drive me back into the net. The King of France was instigated to expel me from his dominions; the Duke of Burgundy was moved to follow his example, but would not so debase himself to any king on earth. But why should I tell all that I have suffered? Every art was used, and every means of persecution tried, till at length, taking refuge in this town of Ghent, under a false name, I have known a short period of tranquillity. Then came the thought of my child upon me: it grew like a thirst, till I could bear no more, and I sent for her. I knew not then that the late King was dead, or I might have waited to see the result; for often, when this Prince was but a child, I have had him on my knee; and I too taught him to handle the bow when he was seven years old; for, till his father stretched a hand towards the crown, he was my friend; and Harry of Hereford and John Grey were sworn brothers."

"The more the friendship once, the more the hate," replied Richard of Woodville; "so says an old song, noble knight; but now, that enmity is over, I trust, for ever. The Earl of March, the only well-founded obstacle in the way of Henry's rights, acknowledges them fully."

"And if he did not," answered Sir John Grey, with a stern brow, "I would never draw my sword for him. The Earl of March--I mean the old Earl--by tame acquiescence in the deeds of Henry of Bolinbroke, set aside his title. He held out no hand to help his falling kinsman Richard; and if the crown was to be given away, it was the Peers and Commons of England had the right to give it; and they rightly gave it to the brave and wise, rather than to the feeble and the timid. It was Richard Plantagenet was my King, and not the Earl of March. To the one I swore allegiance, and owed much; to the other I had no duty, and owed nothing. I did not wrangle which son of a king should succeed, but I upheld the monarch who was upon the throne. Neither did I ever, my young friend, regard the Duke of Lancaster with private enmity, as you seem to think. He was ambitious; he usurped his cousin's throne; and I drew the sword against him because he did so; but I will acknowledge that, if there was one man in England fitted to fill that throne with dignity, he was the man. He, on the contrary, hated me, because his own conduct had changed a friend into an enemy; and so it is ever in this world. But who is it rings the bell so fiercely? Hark! perhaps it is my child!"--and, opening the door, he turned his head eagerly to listen to the sounds that rose from below.

Richard of Woodville also gave ear, for a word is sufficient to make hopes, however improbable, rise up like young plants in a spring shower--at least, in our early days. But the next moment, the steps of two persons sounded in the passage, and one of the servants, whom Woodville had seen in the ante-chamber of Sir Philip de Morgan, appeared, guided by the Flemish maid.

"My master greets you well, sir," he said, addressing Sir John Grey, "and has sent you, by the King's order, some of the money belonging to you, for your present need;" and thus saying, he laid a heavy bag of what appeared to be coin upon the table. "He bids me say," continued the man, "that the rest of the money will arrive soon, and that you had better appear at the Court of my Lord Count, as early as may be, that all the world may know you have the King's protection."

Sir John Grey gazed at the bag of money with a mournful smile. "How ready men are," he said, "when fortune favours! How far and how long might I have sought this, when I was in distress!"--and untying the bag, he took out a large piece of silver, saying to the servant, "There, my friend, is largess. Tell your master I will follow counsel. He has heard of this, Richard;--you bore him letters, I suppose;" he added, as the man quitted the room, with thanks for his bounty. "Well, 'tis no use to expect of men more than they judge their duty; yet this knight was the instrument who willingly urged the Duke of Burgundy to drive me forth from Dijon."