And I would have won the last
game, Katharine, if Malise had not interrupted us. You know I would
have won."
"Yes, Father, you would have won. Oh, he must not see you!" Katharine
cried, a great tide of love mounting in her breast, the love that
draws a mother fiercely to shield her backward boy. "Father, will you
not go into your chamber? I have a new book for you, Father--all
pictures, dear. Come--" She was coaxing him when Sire Henry appeared
in the doorway.
"But I do not wish to look at pictures," Charles said, peevishly; "I
wish to play cards. You are an ungrateful daughter, Katharine. You are
never willing to amuse me." He sat down with a whimper and began to
pluck at his dribbling lips.
Katharine had moved a little toward the door. Her face was white. "Now
welcome, sire!" she said. "Welcome, O great conqueror, who in your
hour of triumph can find no nobler recreation than to shame a maid
with her past folly! It was valorously done, sire. See, Father; here
is the King of England come to observe how low we sit that yesterday
were lords of France.
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