“Hast heard that the Lady of Buckingham cometh hither?”
“When?” Maude whispered back.
“To-morrow, to sup and bide the night. So thou mayest search her following for thy Mistress Hawise.”
“But shall all her following follow her?” inquired Maude.
“Every one, for she goeth anon unto her place in London to tarry the winter, and shall be here on her way thither. And hark thou, Maude! in her train—as thou shalt see—is the fairest lady in all the world.”
“And what name hath she?” was Maude’s answer.
“The fair Lady de Narbonne, widow of Sir Robert de Narbonne, a good knight and true, that fell in these late wars. She hath but some twenty years e’en now, and ’tis full three summers sithence his death.”
“And what like is she?”
“Like the angels in Paradise!” said Bertram enthusiastically. “I tell thee, there is none like her in all the world.”
Maude awaited the following evening with two-fold interest. She might possibly see Hawise, and she should certainly see some one who was like the angels in Paradise. The evening came, and with it the guests. One look at the Countess of Buckingham was enough. She certainly did not resemble the angels, unless they looked very cross and discontented. Her good qualities were not apparent to Maude, for they consisted of two coronets and an enormous fortune. Her ladies were much more interesting to Maude than herself. The first who entered behind her was a stiff middle-aged woman with dark hair.