“Only paying a visit to the Countess,” said Stephen, laughing.
By this time Derette had undone the knots on the handkerchief, and the crimson robe was revealed in all its beauty.
“Agnes,” she said quietly, but with a little undertone of decided triumph, “this is for you. You won’t have to give up your gown, though you did give Mother the money.”
A robe, in the Middle Ages, meant more than a single gown, and the crimson woollen was a robe. Under and upper tunics, a mantle, and a corset or warm under-bodice, lay before the eyes of the amazed Agnes.
“Derette, you awful child!” exclaimed her mother almost in terror, “what have you been after, and where did you get all that? Why, it’s a new robe, and fit for a queen!”
“Don’t scold the child,” said Stephen. “She meant well, and I believe she behaved well; she got more than she asked for, that’s all.”
“Please, it isn’t quite new, Mother, because the Lady wore it yesterday; but she said she hadn’t one done with, so she gave me one she was wearing.”
Bit by bit the story was told, while Isel held up her hands in horrified astonishment, which she allowed to appear largely, and in inward admiration of Derette’s spirit, of which she tried to prevent the appearance. She was not, however, quite able to effect her purpose.
“Meine Kind!” cried Agnes, even more amazed and horrified than Isel. “Dat is not for me. It is too good. I am only poor woman. How shall I such beautiful thing wear?”
“But it is for you,” pleaded Derette earnestly, “and you must wear it; because, you see, if you did not, it would seem as if I had spoken falsely to the Lady.”