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On the next day the duke and his councillors determined on an assault. The king was not present, and when he heard of it he did not favor the plan.

“You have seen the courage of these people,” he remarked. “You know how murderous and uncertain is street-fighting. You will lose many brave men to no purpose. Wait two or three days, and the Liegoise will certainly come to terms.”

Most of the Burgundian captains were of the same opinion. The duke, whose rash spirit could ill brook opposition, grew angry.

“He wishes to spare the Liegoise,” he angrily exclaimed. “What danger is there in this assault? There are no walls; they cannot put a single gun in position; I certainly will not give up the assault. If the king is afraid, let him get him gone to Namur.”

This insult to the king, which shocked the Burgundians themselves, was repeated to him, and received in silence. He had made up his mind to drain the cup of humiliation to the dregs. The next day, October 30, the assault was made, Charles at the head of his troops. Louis came up to join him.

“Bide your time,” said Charles. “Put not yourself uselessly in danger. I will send you word when it is time.”

“Lead on, brother,” answered Louis. “You are the most fortunate prince alive; I will follow you.”

On they marched–into, as it proved, an undefended city. The Liegoise had been discouraged by the fall of many of their bravest men. It was Sunday; no attack was looked for; “the cloth was laid in every house, and all were preparing for dinner”; the Burgundians moved through empty streets, Louis following with his own escort, and shouting, “Hurrah for Burgundy!”

By mid-day the vengeance of Charles was complete; the town had been pillaged; there was nothing left to take in house or church; many a floor was stained with blood; Liege for the time was ruined.

As for the arch-deceiver to whom all this was due, he completed his work of baseness by loading the duke with praises, his tone and manner so courteous and amiable that Charles lost the last shreds of his recent anger.

“Brother,” said the king the next day, “if you still need my help, do not spare me. But if you have nothing more for me to do, it would be well for me to go back to Paris, to make public in my court of parliament the arrangement we have come to together; otherwise it would risk becoming of no avail. You know that such is the custom of France. Next summer we must meet again. You will come into your duchy of Burgundy, and I will go and pay you a visit, and we will pass a week joyously together in making good cheer.”

It may be that this smooth speech was accompanied by a mental commentary,–“Let me once get from under your claws, my playful tiger, and I will not be fool enough to put myself back there again,”–but if so nothing of the kind appeared on his face.

Charles made no answer. He sent for the treaty, and left it to the king to confirm or renounce it, as he would. Louis expressed himself as fully satisfied with its terms, and on the next day, November 2, set out on his return to France. Charles kept him company for some distance. On parting, the king said,–

“If my brother Charles, who is in Brittany, should not be content with the assignment which I, for love of you, have made him, what would you have me do?”

“If he do not please to take it, but would have you otherwise satisfy him, I leave that to the two of you to settle,” said Charles.

With these words he turned back, leaving Louis to pursue his way free once more, “after having passed the most trying three weeks of his life.”

That the fox kept faith with the lion, or the lion with the fox, is not to be looked for. New disputes broke out, new battles were fought,–not now in alliance,–and the happiest day in the life of Louis XI. was that in which he heard that Charles of Burgundy, the constant thorn in his chaplet, had fallen on the fatal field of Nancy, and that France was freed from the threatening presence of the bold and passionate duke.