The Line of Love; Dizain des Mariages Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  _The Episode Called "Sweet Adelais"_

  1. _Gruntings at Aeaea_

  It was on a clear September day that the Marquis of Falmouth set out forFrance. John of Bedford had summoned him posthaste when Henry V wasstricken at Senlis with what bid fair to prove a mortal distemper; forthe marquis was Bedford's comrade-in-arms, veteran of Shrewsbury,Agincourt and other martial disputations, and the Duke-Regent suspectedthat, to hold France in case of the King's death, he would presently needall the help he could muster.

  "And I, too, look for warm work," the marquis conceded to MistressAdelais Vernon, at parting. "But, God willing, my sweet, we shall be wedat Christmas for all that. The Channel is not very wide. At a pinch Imight swim it, I think, to come to you."

  He kissed her and rode away with his men. Adelais stared after them,striving to picture her betrothed rivalling Leander in this fashion, andsubsequently laughed. The marquis was a great lord and a brave captain,but long past his first youth; his actions went somewhat too deliberatelyever to be roused to the high lunacies of the Sestian amorist. So Adelaislaughed, but a moment later, recollecting the man's cold desire of her,his iron fervors, Adelais shuddered.

  This was in the court-yard at Winstead. Roger Darke of Yaxham, the girl'scousin, standing beside her, noted the gesture, and snarled.

  "Think twice of it, Adelais," said he.

  Whereupon Mistress Vernon flushed like a peony. "I honor him," she said,with some irrelevance, "and he loves me."

  Roger scoffed. "Love, love! O you piece of ice! You gray-stone saint!What do you know of love?" Master Darke caught both her hands in his."Now, by Almighty God, our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ!" he said,between his teeth, his eyes flaming; "I, Roger Darke, have offered youundefiled love and you have mocked at it. Ha, Tears of Mary! how I loveyou! And you mean to marry this man for his title! Do you not believethat I love you, Adelais?" he whimpered.

  Gently she disengaged herself. This was of a pattern with Roger'sbehavior any time during the past two years. "I suppose you do," Adelaisconceded, with the tiniest possible shrug. "Perhaps that is why I findyou so insufferable."

  Afterward Mistress Vernon turned on her heel and left Master Darke. Inhis fluent invocation of Mahound and Termagaunt and other overseers ofthe damned he presently touched upon eloquence.

  2. _Comes One with Moly_

  Adelais came into the walled garden of Winstead, aflame now with autumnalscarlet and gold. She seated herself upon a semicircular marble bench,and laughed for no apparent reason, and contentedly waited what Dame Luckmight send.

  She was a comely maid, past argument or (as her lovers habituallycomplained) any adequate description. Circe, Colchian Medea, Viviane duLac, were their favorite analogues; and what old romancers had fabledconcerning these ladies they took to be the shadow of which AdelaisVernon was the substance. At times these rhapsodists might have supportedtheir contention with a certain speciousness, such as was apparentto-day, for example, when against the garden's hurly-burly of color, theprodigal blazes of scarlet and saffron and wine-yellow, the girl's greengown glowed like an emerald, and her eyes, too, seemed emeralds, vivid,inscrutable, of a clear verdancy that was quite untinged with either blueor gray. Very black lashes shaded them. The long oval of her face (youmight have objected), was of an absolute pallor, rarely quickening to aflush; but her petulant lips burned crimson, and her hair mimicked thedwindling radiance of the autumn sunlight and shamed it. All in all, theaspect of Adelais Vernon was, beyond any questioning, spiced with asorcerous tang; say, the look of a young witch shrewd at love-potions,but ignorant of their flavor; yet before this the girl's comeliness hadstirred men's hearts to madness, and the county boasted of it.

  Presently Adelais lifted her small imperious head, and then again shesmiled, for out of the depths of the garden, with an embellishment ofdivers trills and roulades, came a man's voice that carolled blithely.

  Sang the voice:

  _"Had you lived when earth was new What had bards of old to do Save to sing in praise of you?

  "Had you lived in ancient days, Adelais, sweet Adelais, You had all the ancients' praise,-- You whose beauty would have won Canticles of Solomon, Had the sage Judean king Gazed upon this goodliest thing Earth of Heaven's grace hath got.

  "Had you gladdened Greece, were not All the nymphs of Greece forgot?

  "Had you trod Sicilian ways, Adelais, sweet Adelais_,

  "You had pilfered all their praise: Bion and Theocritus Had transmitted unto us Honeyed harmonies to tell Of your beauty's miracle, Delicate, desirable, And their singing skill were bent You-ward tenderly,--content, While the world slipped by, to gaze On the grace of you, and praise Sweet Adelais_."

  Here the song ended, and a man, wheeling about the hedge, paused toregard her with adoring eyes. Adelais looked up at him, incrediblysurprised by his coming.

  This was the young Sieur d'Arnaye, Hugh Vernon's prisoner, taken atAgincourt seven years earlier and held since then, by the King's command,without ransom; for it was Henry's policy to release none of theimportant French prisoners. Even on his death-bed he found time toadmonish his brother, John of Bedford, that four of these,--Charlesd'Orleans and Jehan de Bourbon and Arthur de Rougemont and Fulked'Arnaye,--should never be set at liberty. "Lest," as the King said, witha savor of prophecy, "more fire be kindled in one day than all yourendeavors can quench in three."

  Presently the Sieur d'Arnaye sighed, rather ostentatiously; and Adelaislaughed, and demanded the cause of his grief.

  "Mademoiselle," he said,--his English had but a trace of accent,--"I amafflicted with a very grave malady."

  "What is the name of this malady?" said she.

  "They call it love, mademoiselle."

  Adelais laughed yet again and doubted if the disease were incurable. ButFulke d'Arnaye seated himself beside her and demonstrated that, in hiscase, it might not ever be healed.

  "For it is true," he observed, "that the ancient Scythians, who livedbefore the moon was made, were wont to cure this distemper byblood-letting under the ears; but your brother, mademoiselle, denies meaccess to all knives. And the leech Aelian avers that it may be cured bythe herb agnea; but your brother, mademoiselle, will not permit that I gointo the fields in search of this herb. And in Greece--he, mademoiselle,I might easily be healed of my malady in Greece! For in Greece is therock, Leucata Petra, from which a lover may leap and be cured; and thewell of the Cyziceni, from which a lover may drink and be cured; and theriver Selemnus, in which a lover may bathe and be cured: but your brotherwill not permit that I go to Greece. You have a very cruel brother,mademoiselle; seven long years, no less, he has penned me here like astarling in a cage."

  And Fulke d'Arnaye shook his head at her reproachfully.

  Afterward he laughed. Always this Frenchman found something at which tolaugh; Adelais could not remember in all the seven years a time when shehad seen him downcast. But while his lips jested of his imprisonment, hiseyes stared at her mirthlessly, like a dog at his master, and her gazefell before the candor of the passion she saw in them.

  "My lord," said Adelais, "why will you not give your parole? Then youwould be free to come and go as you elected." A little she bent towardhim, a covert red showing in her cheeks. "To-night at Halvergate the Earlof Brudenel holds the feast of Saint Michael. Give your parole, my lord,and come with us. There will be in our company fair ladies who mayperhaps heal your malady."

  But the Sieur d'Arnaye only laughed. "I cannot give my parole," he said,"since I mean to escape for all your brother's care." Then he fell topacing up and down before her. "Now, by Monseigneur Saint Medard and theEagle that sheltered him!" he cried, in half-humorous self-mockery;"however thickly troubles rain upon me, I think that I shall never giveup hoping!" After a pause, "Listen, mademoiselle," he went on, moregravely, and gave a nervous gesture toward the east, "yonder is France,sacked, pillaged, ruinous, prostrate, naked to her enemy. But atVincennes, men say, the butcher of Agin
court is dying. With him dies theEnglish power in France. Can his son hold that dear realm? Are those tinyhands with which this child may not yet feed himself capable to wield asceptre? Can he who is yet beholden to nurses for milk distributesustenance to the law and justice of a nation? He, I think not,mademoiselle! France will have need of me shortly. Therefore, I cannotgive my parole."

  "Then must my brother still lose his sleep, lord, for always yoursafe-keeping is in his mind. To-day at cock-crow he set out for the coastto examine those Frenchmen who landed yesterday."

  At this he wheeled about. "Frenchmen!"

  "Only Norman fishermen, lord, whom the storm drove to seek shelter inEngland. But he feared they had come to rescue you."

  Fulke d'Arnaye shrugged his shoulders. "That was my thought, too," headmitted, with a laugh. "Always I dream of escape, mademoiselle. Have acare of me, sweet enemy! I shall escape yet, it may be."

  "But I will not have you escape," said Adelais. She tossed her glitteringlittle head. "Winstead would not be Winstead without you. Why, I was buta child, my lord, when you came. Have you forgotten, then, the lank,awkward child who used to stare at you so gravely?"

  "Mademoiselle," he returned, and now his voice trembled and still thehunger in his eyes grew more great, "I think that in all these years Ihave forgotten nothing--not even the most trivial happening,mademoiselle,--wherein you had a part. You were a very beautiful child.Look you, I remember as if it were yesterday that you never wept whenyour good lady mother--whose soul may Christ have in his keeping!--wasforced to punish you for some little misdeed. No, you never wept; butyour eyes would grow wistful, and you would come to me here in thegarden, and sit with me for a long time in silence. 'Fulke,' you wouldsay, quite suddenly, 'I love you better than my mother.' And I told youthat it was wrong to make such observations, did I not, mademoiselle? Myfaith, yes! but I may confess now that I liked it," Fulke d'Arnaye ended,with a faint chuckle.

  Adelais sat motionless. Certainly it was strange, she thought, how thesound of this man's voice had power to move her. Certainly, too, this manwas very foolish.

  "And now the child is a woman,--a woman who will presently be Marchionessof Falmouth. Look you, when I get free of my prison--and I shall getfree, never fear, mademoiselle,--I shall often think of that great lady.For only God can curb a man's dreams, and God is compassionate. So I hopeto dream nightly of a gracious lady whose hair is gold and whose eyes arecolored like the summer sea and whose voice is clear and low and verywonderfully sweet. Nightly, I think, the vision of that dear enemy willhearten me to fight for France by day. In effect, mademoiselle, yourtraitor beauty will yet aid me to destroy your country."

  The Sieur d'Arnaye laughed, somewhat cheerlessly, as he lifted her handto his lips.

  And certainly also (she concluded her reflections) it was absurd how thisman's touch seemed an alarm to her pulses. Adelais drew away from him.

  "No!" she said: "remember, lord, I, too, am not free."

  "Indeed, we tread on dangerous ground," the Frenchman assented, with asad little smile. "Pardon me, mademoiselle. Even were you free of yourtrothplight--even were I free of my prison, most beautiful lady, I havenaught to offer you yonder in that fair land of France. They tell me thatthe owl and the wolf hunt undisturbed where Arnaye once stood. My chateauis carpeted with furze and roofed with God's Heaven. That gives me alarge estate--does it not?--but I may not reasonably ask a woman to shareit. So I pray you pardon me for my nonsense, mademoiselle, and I praythat the Marchioness of Falmouth may be very happy."

  And with that he vanished into the autumn-fired recesses of the garden,singing, his head borne stiff. Oh, the brave man who esteemed misfortuneso slightly! thought Adelais. She remembered that the Marquis of Falmouthrarely smiled; and once only--at a bull-baiting--had she heard him laugh.It needed bloodshed, then, to amuse him, Adelais deduced, with thatself-certainty in logic which is proper to youth; and the girl shuddered.

  But through the scarlet coppices of the garden, growing fainter and yetmore faint, rang the singing of Fulke d'Arnaye.

  Sang the Frenchman:

  "Had you lived in Roman times No Catullus in his rhymes Had lamented Lesbia's sparrow: He had praised your forehead, narrow As the newly-crescent moon, White as apple-trees in June; He had made some amorous tune Of the laughing light Eros Snared as Psyche-ward he goes By your beauty,--by your slim, White, perfect beauty.

  "After him Horace, finding in your eyes Horace limned in lustrous wise, Would have made you melodies Fittingly to hymn your praise, Sweet Adelais."

  3. Roger is Explicit

  Into the midst of the Michaelmas festivities at Halvergate that night,burst a mud-splattered fellow in search of Sir Hugh Vernon. Roger Darkebrought him to the knight. The fellow then related that he came fromSimeon de Beck, the master of Castle Rising, with tidings that a strangeboat, French-rigged, was hovering about the north coast. Let Sir Hughhave a care of his prisoner.

  Vernon swore roundly. "I must look into this," he said. "But what shall Ido with Adelais?"

  "Will you not trust her to me?" Roger asked. "If so, cousin, I will verygladly be her escort to Winstead. Let the girl dance her fill while shemay, Hugh. She will have little heart for dancing after a month or so ofFalmouth's company."

  "That is true," Vernon assented; "but the match is a good one, and she isbent upon it."

  So presently he rode with his men to the north coast. An hour later RogerDarke and Adelais set out for Winstead, in spite of all Lady Brudenel'sprotestations that Mistress Vernon had best lie with her that night atHalvergate.

  It was a clear night of restless winds, neither warm nor chill, but fineSeptember weather. About them the air was heavy with the damp odors ofdecaying leaves, for the road they followed was shut in by the autumnwoods, that now arched the way with sere foliage, rustling and whirringand thinly complaining overhead, and now left it open to broad splashesof moonlight, where fallen leaves scuttled about in the wind vortices.Adelais, elate with dancing, chattered of this and that as her gray mareambled homeward, but Roger was moody.

  Past Upton the road branched in three directions; here Master Darkecaught the gray mare's bridle and turned both horses to the left.

  "Why, of whatever are you thinking!" the girl derided him. "Roger, thisis not the road to Winstead!"

  He grinned evilly over his shoulder. "It is the road to Yaxham, Adelais,where my chaplain expects us."

  In a flash she saw it all as her eyes swept these desolate woods. "Youwill not dare!"

  "Will I not?" said Roger. "Faith, for my part, I think you have mocked mefor the last time, Adelais, since it is the wife's duty, as Paul veryjustly says, to obey."

  Swiftly she slipped from the mare. But he followed her. "Oh, infamy!" thegirl cried. "You have planned this, you coward!"

  "Yes, I planned it," said Roger Darke. "Yet I take no great credittherefor, for it was simple enough. I had but to send a feigned messageto your block-head brother. Ha, yes, I planned it, Adelais, and I plannedit well. But I deal honorably. To-morrow you will be Mistress Darke,never fear."

  He grasped at her cloak as she shrank from him. The garment fell, leavingthe girl momentarily free, her festival jewels shimmering in themoonlight, her bared shoulders glistening like silver. Darke, staring ather, giggled horribly. An instant later Adelais fell upon her knees.

  "Sweet Christ, have pity upon Thy handmaiden! Do not forsake me, sweetChrist, in my extremity! Save me from this man!" she prayed, withentire faith.

  "My lady wife," said Darke, and his hot, wet hand sank heavily upon hershoulder, "you had best finish your prayer before my chaplain, I think,since by ordinary Holy Church is skilled to comfort the sorrowing."

  "A miracle, dear lord Christ!" the girl wailed. "O sweet Christ, amiracle!"

  "Faith of God!" said Roger, in a flattish tone; "what was that?"

  For faintly there came the sound of one singing.

  Sang the distant voice:

  _"Had your father's household
been Guelfic-born or Ghibelline, Beatrice were unknown On her star-encompassed throne.

  "For, had Dante viewed your grace, Adelais, sweet Adelais, You had reigned in Bice's place,-- Had for candles, Hyades, Rastaben, and Betelguese,-- And had heard Zachariel Chaunt of you, and, chaunting, tell All the grace of you, and praise Sweet Adelais."_

  4. _Honor Brings a Padlock_

  Adelais sprang to her feet. "A miracle!" she cried, her voice shaking."Fulke, Fulke! to me, Fulke!"

  Master Darke hurried her struggling toward his horse. Darke was mutteringcurses, for there was now a beat of hoofs in the road yonder that led toWinstead. "Fulke, Fulke!" the girl shrieked.

  Then presently, as Roger put foot to stirrup, two horsemen wheeled aboutthe bend in the road, and one of them leapt to the ground.

  "Mademoiselle," said Fulke d'Arnaye, "am I, indeed, so fortunate as to beof any service to you?"

  "Ho!" cried Roger, with a gulp of relief, "it is only the Frenchdancing-master taking French leave of poor cousin Hugh! Man, but youstartled me!"

  Now Adelais ran to the Frenchman, clinging to him the while that she toldof Roger's tricks. And d'Arnaye's face set mask-like.

  "Monsieur," he said, when she had ended, "you have wronged a sweet andinnocent lady. As God lives, you shall answer to me for this."

  "Look you," Roger pointed out, "this is none of your affair, MonsieurJackanapes. You are bound for the coast, I take it. Very well,--ka me,and I ka thee. Do you go your way in peace, and let us do the same."

  Fulke d'Arnaye put the girl aside and spoke rapidly in French to hiscompanion. Then with mincing agility he stepped toward Master Darke.

  Roger blustered. "You hop-toad! you jumping-jack!" said he, "what doyou mean?"

  "Chastisement!" said the Frenchman, and struck him in the face.

  "Very well!" said Master Darke, strangely quiet. And with that theyboth drew.

  The Frenchman laughed, high and shrill, as they closed, and afterwardhe began to pour forth a voluble flow of discourse. Battle was wineto the man.

  "Not since Agincourt, Master Coward--he, no!--have I held sword in hand.It is a good sword, this,--a sharp sword, is it not? Ah, the poorarm--but see, your blood is quite black-looking in this moonlight, and Ihad thought cowards yielded a paler blood than brave men possess. We liveand learn, is it not? Observe, I play with you like a child,--as I playedwith your tall King at Agincourt when I cut away the coronet from hishelmet. I did not kill him--no!--but I wounded him, you conceive?Presently, I shall wound you, too. My compliments--you have grazed myhand. But I shall not kill you, because you are the kinsman of thefairest lady earth may boast, and I would not willingly shed the leastdrop of any blood that is partly hers. Ohe, no! Yet since I needs must dothis ungallant thing--why, see, monsieur, how easy it is!"

  Thereupon he cut Roger down at a blow and composedly set to wiping hissword on the grass. The Englishman lay like a log where he had fallen.

  "Lord," Adelais quavered, "lord, have you killed him?"

  Fulke d'Arnaye sighed. "Helas, no!" said he, "since I knew that youdid not wish it. See, mademoiselle,--I have but made a healthful andblood-letting small hole in him here. He will return himself tosurvive to it long time--Fie, but my English fails me, after these somany years--"

  D'Arnaye stood for a moment as if in thought, concluding hismeditations with a grimace. After that he began again to speak inFrench to his companion. The debate seemed vital. The strangergesticulated, pleaded, swore, implored, summoned all inventions betweenthe starry spheres and the mud of Cocytus to judge of the affair; butFulke d'Arnaye was resolute.

  "Behold, mademoiselle," he said, at length, "how my poor Olivier exciteshimself over a little matter. Olivier is my brother, most beautiful lady,but he speaks no English, so that I cannot present him to you. He came torescue me, this poor Olivier, you conceive. Those Norman fishermen ofwhom you spoke to-day--but you English are blinded, I think, by the fogsof your cold island. Eight of the bravest gentlemen in France,mademoiselle, were those same fishermen, come to bribe my gaoler,--theincorruptible Tompkins, no less. He, yes, they came to tell me that Henryof Monmouth, by the wrath of God King of France, is dead at Vincennesyonder, mademoiselle, and that France will soon be free of you English.France rises in her might--" His nostrils dilated, he seemed taller; thenhe shrugged. "And poor Olivier grieves that I may not strike a blow forher,--grieves that I must go back to Winstead."

  D'Arnaye laughed as he caught the bridle of the gray mare and turned herso that Adelais might mount. But the girl, with a faint, wondering cry,drew away from him.

  "You will go back! You have escaped, lord, and you will go back!"

  "Why, look you," said the Frenchman, "what else may I conceivably do? Weare some miles from your home, most beautiful lady,--can you ride thosefour long miles alone? in this night so dangerous? Can I leave you herealone in this so tall forest? He, surely not. I am desolated,mademoiselle, but I needs must burden you with my company homeward."

  Adelais drew a choking breath. He had fretted out seven years ofcaptivity. Now he was free; and lest she be harmed or her name besmutched, however faintly, he would go back to his prison, jesting. "No,no!" she cried aloud.

  But he raised a deprecating hand. "You cannot go alone. Olivier herewould go with you gladly. Not one of those brave gentlemen who await meat the coast yonder but would go with you very, very gladly, for theylove France, these brave gentlemen, and they think that I can serve herbetter than most other men. That is very flattering, is it not? But allthe world conspires to flatter me, mademoiselle. Your good brother, byexample, prizes my company so highly that he would infallibly hang thegentleman who rode back with you. So, you conceive, I cannot avail myselfof their services. But with me it is different, hein? Ah, yes, Sir Hughwill merely lock me up again and for the future guard me more vigilantly.Will you not mount, mademoiselle?"

  His voice was quiet, and his smile never failed him. It was this steadysmile which set her heart to aching. Adelais knew that no natural powercould dissuade him; he would go back with her; but she knew howconstantly he had hoped for liberty, with what fortitude he had awaitedhis chance of liberty; and that he should return to captivity, smiling,thrilled her to impotent, heart-shaking rage. It maddened her that hedared love her thus infinitely.

  "But, mademoiselle," Fulke d'Arnaye went on, when she had mounted, "letus proceed, if it so please you, by way of Filby. For then we may ride alittle distance with this rogue Olivier. I may not hope to see Olivieragain in this life, you comprehend, and Olivier is, I think, the oneperson who loves me in all this great wide world. Me, I am not verypopular, you conceive. But you do not object, mademoiselle?"

  "No!" she said, in a stifled voice.

  Afterward they rode on the way to Filby, leaving Roger Darke to regain atdiscretion the mastership of his faculties. The two Frenchmen as theywent talked vehemently; and Adelais, following them, brooded on thepowerful Marquis of Falmouth and the great lady she would shortly be; buther eyes strained after Fulke d'Arnaye.

  Presently he fell a-singing; and still his singing praised her in adesirous song, yearning but very sweet, as they rode through the autumnwoods; and his voice quickened her pulses as always it had the power toquicken them, and in her soul an interminable battling dragged on.

  Sang Fulke d'Arnaye:

  _"Had you lived when earth was new What had bards of old to do Save to sing in praise of you?

  "They had sung of you always, Adelais, sweet Adelais, As worthiest of all men's praise; Nor had undying melodies, Wailed soft as love may sing of these Dream-hallowed names,--of Heloise, Ysoude, Salome, Semele, Morgaine, Lucrece, Antiope, Brunhilda, Helen, Melusine, Penelope, and Magdalene: --But you alone had all men's praise, Sweet Adelais"_

  5. _"Thalatta!"_

  When they had crossed the Bure, they had come into the open country,--agreat plain, gray in the moonlight, that descended, hillock by hillock,toward the shores of the North Sea. On the right the dimpling lustre of
tumbling waters stretched to a dubious sky-line, unbroken save for thesail of the French boat, moored near the ruins of the old Romanstation, Garianonum, and showing white against the unresting sea, likea naked arm; to the left the lights of Filby flashed their unblinking,cordial radiance.

  Here the brothers parted. Vainly Olivier wept and stormed beforeFulke's unwavering smile; the Sieur d'Arnaye was adamantean: andpresently the younger man kissed him on both cheeks and rode slowlyaway toward the sea.

  D'Arnaye stared after him. "Ah, the brave lad!" said Fulke d'Arnaye. "Andyet how foolish! Look you, mademoiselle, that rogue is worth ten of me,and he does not even suspect it."

  His composure stung her to madness.

  "Now, by the passion of our Lord and Saviour!" Adelais cried, wringingher hands in impotence; "I conjure you to hear me, Fulke! You must not dothis thing. Oh, you are cruel, cruel! Listen, my lord," she went on withmore restraint, when she had reined up her horse by the side of his,"yonder in France the world lies at your feet. Our great King is dead.France rises now, and France needs a brave captain. You, you! it is youthat she needs. She has sent for you, my lord, that mother France whomyou love. And you will go back to sleep in the sun at Winstead whenFrance has need of you. Oh, it is foul!"

  But he shook his head. "France is very dear to me," he said, "yet thereare other men who can serve France. And there is no man save me who mayto-night serve you, most beautiful lady."

  "You shame me!" she cried, in a gust of passion. "You shame myworthlessness with this mad honor of yours that drags you jesting to yourdeath! For you must die a prisoner now, without any hope. You and Orleansand Bourbon are England's only hold on France, and Bedford dare not letyou go. Fetters, chains, dungeons, death, torture perhaps--that is whatyou must look for now. And you will no longer be held at Winstead, but inthe strong Tower at London."

  "Helas, you speak more truly than an oracle," he gayly assented.

  And hers was the ageless thought of women. "This man is rather foolishand peculiarly dear to me. What shall I do with him? and how much must Ihumor him in his foolishness?"

  D'Arnaye stayed motionless: but still his eyes strained after Olivier.

  Well, she would humor him. There was no alternative save that of perhapsnever seeing Fulke again.

  Adelais laid her hand upon his arm. "You love me. God knows, I am notworthy of it, but you love me. Ever since I was a child you have lovedme,--always, always it was you who indulged me, shielded me, protected mewith this fond constancy that I have not merited. Very well,"--shepaused, for a single heartbeat,--"go! and take me with you."

  The hand he raised shook as though palsied. "O most beautiful!" theFrenchman cried, in an extreme of adoration; "you would do that! Youwould do that in pity to save me--unworthy me! And it is I whom you callbrave--me, who annoy you with my woes so petty!" Fulke d'Arnaye slippedfrom his horse, and presently stood beside the gray mare, holding asmall, slim hand in his. "I thank you," he said, simply. "You know thatit is impossible. But yes, I have loved you these long years. Andnow--Ah, my heart shakes, my words tumble, I cannot speak! You know thatI may not--may not let you do this thing. Why, but even if, of yourprodigal graciousness, mademoiselle, you were so foolish as to waste alittle liking upon my so many demerits--" He gave a hopeless gesture."Why, there is always our brave marquis to be considered, who will sosoon make you a powerful, rich lady. And I?--I have nothing."

  But Adelais had rested either hand upon a stalwart shoulder, bending downto him till her hair brushed his. Yes, this man was peculiarly dear toher: she could not bear to have him murdered when in equity he deservedonly to have his jaws boxed for his toplofty nonsense about her; and,after all, she did not much mind humoring him in his foolishness.

  "Do you not understand?" she whispered. "Ah, my paladin, do you think Ispeak in pity? I wished to be a great lady,--yes. Yet always, I think, Iloved you, Fulke, but until to-night I had believed that love was onlythe man's folly, the woman's diversion. See, here is Falmouth's ring."She drew it from her finger, and flung it awkwardly, as every womanthrows. Through the moonlight it fell glistening. "Yes, I hungered forFalmouth's power, but you have shown me that which is above any temporalpower. Ever I must crave the highest, Fulke--Ah, fair sweet friend, donot deny me!" Adelais cried, piteously. "Take me with you, Fulke! I willride with you to the wars, my lord, as your page; I will be your wife,your slave, your scullion. I will do anything save leave you. Lord, it isnot the maid's part to plead thus!"

  Fulke d'Arnaye drew her warm, yielding body toward him and stood insilence. Then he raised his eyes to heaven. "Dear Lord God," he cried, ina great voice, "I entreat of Thee that if through my fault this womanever know regret or sorrow I be cast into the nethermost pit of Hell forall eternity!" Afterward he kissed her.

  And presently Adelais lifted her head, with a mocking little laugh."Sorrow!" she echoed. "I think there is no sorrow in all the world.Mount, my lord, mount! See where brother Olivier waits for us yonder."

  * * * * *

  JUNE 5, 1455--AUGUST 4, 1462

  _"Fortune fuz par clercs jadis nominee, Qui toi, Francois, crie et nommemeurtriere."_

  _So it came about that Adelais went into France with the great-grandsonof Tiburce d'Arnaye: and Fulke, they say, made her a very fair husband.But he had not, of course, much time for love-making.

  For in France there was sterner work awaiting Fulke d'Arnaye, and he setabout it: through seven dreary years he and Rougemont and Dunois managed,somehow, to bolster up the cause of the fat-witted King of Bourges (asthe English then called him), who afterward became King Charles VII ofFrance. But in the February of 1429--four days before the Maid of Domremyset forth from her voice-haunted Bois Chenu to bring about a certaincoronation in Rheims Church and in Rouen Square a flamy martyrdom--fourdays before the coming of the good Lorrainer, Fulke d'Arnaye was slain atRouvray-en-Beausse in that encounter between the French and the Englishwhich history has commemorated as the Battle of the Herrings.

  Adelais was wooed by, and betrothed to, the powerful old Comte deVaudremont; but died just before the date set for this second marriage,in October, 1429. She left two sons: Noel, born in 1425, and Raymond,born in 1426; who were reared by their uncle, Olivier d'Arnaye. It wassaid of them that Noel was the handsomest man of his times, and Raymondthe most shrewd; concerning that you will judge hereafter. Both of thesed'Arnayes, on reaching manhood, were identified with the Dauphin's partyin the unending squabbles between Charles VII and the future Louis XI.

  Now you may learn how Noel d'Arnaye came to be immortalized by a legacyof two hundred and twenty blows from an osierwhip--since (as the testatorpiously affirms), "chastoy est une belle aulmosne."_