Lady Foljambe signed to Perrote—she scarcely knew why—to break the news to the suffering mother.
“Lady, the Lord hath heard your moaning, and hath seen your tears,” said Perrote, kneeling by the bed. “He hath given you back—”
“My son?”
The cry was a pitiful one. Then, as ever, the boy was the dearest to his mother’s heart.
“Very dear Lady, no. Your daughter.”
It was painful to see how the sudden gleam died out of the weary eyes.
“Ah, well!” she said, after an instant’s pause. “Well! I asked but for one, and when man doth that, he commonly gets the lesser of the twain. Well! I shall be glad to see my Jeanne. Let her come in.”
Lady Basset came forward and bent over the dying woman.
“Dame!” she said.
“Come, now!” was the answer. “There be folks enough call me Dame. Only two in all this world can call me Mother.”