Misfortune, they say, makes of one a man or a saint.
Of Eustace Saint-Pol it had made a man.

After his homage done, this youth still kneeling, his hands still between Philip's hands, looked fixedly into his sovereign's face, and 'A boon, fair sire!' he said.

'A boon to your new man!' 'What now, Saint-Pol ?' asked King Philip.
'Sire,' he said, 'my sister's marriage is in you.

I beg you to give her to Messire Gilles de Gurdun, a good knight of Normandy.' 'That is a poor marriage for her, Saint-Pol,' said the King, considering, 'and a poor marriage for me, by Saint Mary.

Why should I enrich the King of England, with whom I am at war?
You must give me reason for that.' 'I will give you this reason,' said young Saint-Pol; 'it is because that devil who slew my brother will have her else.' King Philip said, 'Why, I can give her to one who will hold her fast.
Your Gurdun is a Norman, you say?
Well, but Count Richard in a little while will have him under his hand; and how are you served then ?' 'I doubt, sire,' replied Saint-Pol.