“I had near forgotten that; and it was like a woman, for they say they ever keep the most important matter to the last! This boy, for good reasons that I know but may not mention, has sworn a vow, after the fashion of the chivalry he delights in, not to show his face, not to wear his honorable name, until some happier times shall come for him. He is in love—like many another—and does conceive his heart to be most desperately consumed thereby. Wherefore he has taken the name of Flamaucœur, and bears upon his shield a device to that effect. This alone will point him out to you, over and above the dropped visor, which no earthly power will make him lift until this war and quest of his be over. But you will know him, I feel in my heart, without consideration. Sir knight, you will know this youth when you meet him, something in my innermost heart does tell me, even as I should know one that I loved or that loved me behind twenty thicknesses of steel. And now, good-by until we meet again!”
The fair maid gave me her hand as though to part, and then hesitated a moment. Presently she mustered up courage and said:
“Thou bear’st me no ill-will for yonder wild meeting of ours?”
“Maiden, it is forgotten!”
“Well, let it be so. I do not know what possessed me. I was hurried down the stream of feeling like a leaf on a tide. ’Twas I that met thee there by the cedars, and yet it was not me. Something so wild and fierce, such a hot intruder spirit burned within this poor circumference, that I think I was damnate and bewitched. Thou dost most clearly understand that this hot fit is over now.”
“I clearly understand!”
“And that I love thee no longer,” quoth the lady, with a sigh, “or, at least, not near so much?”
“Madam, so I conceive it. Be at ease: it is sacred between us two, and I will forget.”
“Thanks! a thousand thanks, even for the relief that cold forgetfulness does give me. And now again, good-by. Be gentle to Flamaucœur, and—and,” burst out the poor girl, as her control forsook her—“if there is an eye in the whole of wide heaven, oh, may it watch thee! if ever prayers of mine can pierce to the seat of the Eternal, oh, may they profit thee! Gods! that my wishes were iron bars for thy dear body, and my salt tears could but rivet them! Good-by! good-by!” and, kissing my hands in a fierce outburst of weeping, that fair white girl turned and fled, and disappeared through the tapestries that screened the Norman archways.