CHAPTER IV
TELLS HOW THE DUCHESS TOOK BEE AND GEORGE
TO THE HERMITAGE AND OF THEIR MEETING
AN HIDEOUS OLD WOMAN THERE
One morning, that of the first Sunday after Easter, the Duchess issued from the castle on her big chestnut horse, having on her left George of the White Moor, riding a jet-black pony who had a white star in the middle of his forehead, and, on her right, Bee, who had a pink bridle to govern a pony with a cream-coloured coat. They were going to hear Mass at the Hermitage. Soldiers carrying lances escorted them, and there was a press of people on the way to admire them. And really each of the three was very beautiful. The Duchess looked stately and sweet under her veil spangled with silver flowers and her loose cloak: the mild splendour of the pearls which embroidered her headdress was becoming to the face and to the soul of this beautiful person. Next to her George, with his waving hair and bright eye, looked quite handsome, and the soft, clear colour of Bee's face, who was riding on her other side, was a delicious pleasure to the eye; but nothing was more wonderful than the flow of her fair hair, bound in a ribbon embroidered with three golden lilies. It fell down her shoulders like the splendid mantle of youth and beauty. The good folk looked at her and each said to the other, "What a pretty young lady!"
The master tailor, old John, lifted his grandson Peter in his arms to show him Bee, and Peter asked whether she was alive, or whether she was not really a piece of waxwork. He could not understand that a creature so white and delicate could belong to the same species as he, little Peter, did, with his chubby, sunburnt cheeks and drab rustic smock laced at the back.
While the Duchess received these marks of respect with kindness, the two children showed the contentment of pride, George in his flush, Bee in her smile. This is why the Duchess said to them:
"These good people greet us very cheerfully. George, what do you think of it? And what do you, Bee?"
"That they do well," said Bee.
"And that it is their duty," said George.
"And for what reason is it their duty?" the Duchess asked. Seeing they gave no answer, she continued:
"I am going to tell you. From father to son, for more than three hundred years, the dukes of the Clarides, lance in rest, protected these poor people, who owe it to them that they can reap the harvest they have sown. For more than three hundred years every Duchess of the Clarides has spun wool for the poor, visited the sick, and held their babies over the baptismal font. That is why, children, you are greeted."