“Oh, father, I may go?”
He looked gloomily upon her:—
“What wilt thou there?”
“Tell the Prince of us poor, father; teach him the Ploughman's tale; beg him to come on pilgrimage with us to Truth. Let me go!”
“'T is the Prince commandeth, wench,” the waiting-woman interrupted. “Is no need to ask leave.”
“Madame,” said Langland, “you mistake. Is great need. The Prince is not the King; neither is he mine overlord: I owe him no duty. Natheless, the child may go. Yet”—and he turned him to Stephen, “if there come any evil to this my daughter”—
“Sir,” said Stephen, “I pledge my life for to keep the honour of this maid.”
“And of what use is thy life to me?” quoth Langland.
But Calote, who had fled away immediately, came now, walking softly. She had put on her shoes of gray cloth, but she had no stockings. She had smoothed her yellow braids and set a clean kerchief atop.
“I am ready to go with you, madame,” she said, and curtseyed.