“That,” said Flamaucœur, stopping for a moment to sharpen his pen, “is not a very amorous beginning.”
“No,” I answered, “and I have a mind first only to tell her how we fare. You see, good youth, our parting was such she weeps in solitude, I expect, hoping nothing from me, and therefore, I would wish to break my amendment to her gently. Faith! she may be dying of love for aught I know, and the shock of a frank avowal of my new-awakened passion might turn her head.”
“Why yes, Sir Knight,” quoth my comrade, taking a fresh dip of ink, “or, on the other hand, she may now be footing it to some gay measure on those polished floors we wot of, or playing hide-and-seek among the tapestries with certain merry gallants!”
“Jove! If I thought so!”
“Well, never mind. Get on with thy missive, and I will not interrupt again.”
After leaving your father’s castle, Madam, I fell in about nightfall with that excellent youth, Flamaucœur, according to your Ladyship’s supposition. We crossed the narrow sea; and since, have scarcely had time to dine or sleep, or wipe down our weary chargers, or once to scour our red and rusty armor. We joined King Edward, Madam, just as his Highness unfurled the lions and fleur de lys upon the green slopes of the Seine, and thence, right up to the walls of Paris, we scoured the country. We turned then, Queen of Tournaments, northward, toward Flanders.
At this Flamaucœur lay down his pen for a moment, and, heaving a sigh, exclaimed, “That ‘Queen of Tournaments’ does not come well from thee, Sir Knight! Thou slighted this very girl once in the lists when the prize was on thy spear-point.”