“We are at Madame’s service,” said Hilda.
I ran up degrees as fast as ever I could. As the saints would have it, that very minute I oped the door, was Dame Elizabeth haling forth silver in her lap, and afore her stood the jeweller’s man awaiting to be paid. Blame me who will, I fell straight on those gold pieces and silver crowns.
“Fourteen crowns, Dame Elizabeth!” quoth I, all scant of breath. “Quick! give me them—for Hilda la Vileyne—and if no, may God forgive you, for I never will!”
Soothly, had the Archangel Raphael brake into the chamber and demanded fourteen crowns, Dame Elizabeth could have gazed on him no more astonied than she did on me, Cicely, that she had seen nearhand every day of her life for over a dozen years. I gave her leave to look how it listed her. From the coins in her lap I counted forth nine nobles and a French crown, and was half-way down degrees again ere she well knew what I would be at. If I had had to pay her back every groat out of mine own purse—nay, verily, if I had stood to be beheaden for it—I would have had that money for Hilda la Vileyne that night.
They stood where I had left them, by the door of the long gallery, near the porte-cochère, but now with them was a third—mine own Jack, that had but now come in from the street, and the child knew him again, as she well showed.
“O Hilda!”
I heard her say, as I came running down swiftly—for I was dread afraid Dame Elizabeth should overtake me and snatch back the money—and I might have spared my fears, for had I harried the Queen’s crown along with her crowns, no such a thing should ever have come in her head—“O Hilda!” saith the child, “see here the good Messire who gave us the denier to buy soup.”
I might have guessed it was Jack. He o’erheard the child, and stayed him to pat her on the head.
“Well, little one, was the soup good?”
“So good, Messire! But Hilda got none—not a drop.”