unpaid. He displayed to his Parliament the two secret protests that he had made in prison; he called a Council of Notables at Cognac, who voted unanimously against the separation of their province from the realm of France. The Pope, the Parliament, France at large, approved the non-execution of the treaty. "A captive in bondage," cried Francis, "has no honour, and can bind himself to nothing." But, if the province was not ceded, a paladin surely would have returned to his prison, even as John of Burgundy returned to London.
"Nay," cried Francis; "John found in Edward a generous conqueror, who lodged him in his palace, admitted him to his table, and to all the amusements of his Court; therefore, John treated Edward as an equal and a friend. But the Emperor, forgetful of our kinship, forgetting that prisons were made for criminals and not for kings, made me feel all the horrors of a dungeon, and barbarously caused me to despair. How many times have I not told him that I had but the usufruct of my realm, and could not act without my subjects and my laws? But his blind cupidity has taken himself in his own net."
The indignation of Charles availed little. Rome, England, Turkey, all sent expressions of their sympathy to Francis. All that Charles could do was to take the French attendants of the little princes and send them to the galleys. As for the children themselves, they were safe in the charge of Leonor.
Francis, at home, was King of France again—King of France, but no paladin of chivalry. Perhaps the worshipping eyes of Margaret, who had so praised him for his deed of abdication, perplexed him now in his royal state at Fontainebleau: or perhaps he only
