“By every saint in Paradise,” groaned the unhappy Flamaucœur, “I will not!”
“What! not do me a favor and please thy old friend, Isobel of Oswaldston, at one and the same time?”
“Please whom?” shrieked Flamaucœur, starting like a frightened roe.
“Why, you incomprehensible boy, Isobel of Oswaldston, thy old playmate, Isobel. Surely I had told thee before it was of her I was thus newly enamored?”
What passed then within that steel casque I did not know, though now I well can guess, but that slim gallant turned from me, and never a word he spoke. A gentle tremor shook him from head to heel, and I saw the steel plates of his harness quiver with the throes of his pent emotion, while the blue plumes upon his helmet-top shook like aspen-leaves in the first breath of a storm, and over the bars of his cruel visor there rippled a sigh such as surely could only have come from deep down in a human heart.
All this perplexed me very much and made me thoughtful, but before I could fashion my suspicions, Flamaucœur mastered his feelings, and came slowly to the little table, and, saying in a shy, humble voice, wondrously altered, “I will write to thy maid!” drew off his steel gauntlet and took up the pen. That smooth, fine hand of his trembled a little as he spread the paper on the table, and then we began.
OUR CAMP BY THE SOMME.
August 24, 1376.
To the Excellent Lady Isobel of Oswaldston this brings greeting and salutation.
Madam: May it please you to accept the homage of the humblest soldier who serves with King Edward?