Langland and the smith together got the waiting-woman upon her saddle, and Hobbe tossed Calote lightly up afore. So, with Stephen leading the horse, they went out of Cornhill.
Now, though this waiting-woman's soul was strait, her heart was big enough and kind, and when she had perforce to set her arms about Calote, and she felt that slim little body of the child, and the little breasts a-fluttering, because Calote's breath came too quick, and because her heart beat fast,—the Dame Marguerite could not but grow warm to the maid, and wiled the way with tales of the palace, and, “When thou art come into the presence of the Prince thou wilt do thus and so,‘ and, ’Thou art never to sit,” and so with many instructions of court modes and manners.
They found the little Prince in a round chamber in one of the turrets, where he sat on a cushion within the splay of a narrow window, reading a book.
“Ah, cœur de joie!” he cried, slipping down and running to embrace Stephen. “What a lifetime hast thou been, Etienne, mon chéri. See, I have sent them all away, the others, they were consumed with envy. I said I would hold a private audience.”
Still holding by Stephen's arm he turned him to Calote and, looking in her face, was seized with a shyness: wherefore he ceased his prattle and pressed yet more close to his squire. Then, because the hand of the waiting-woman was heavy on her shoulder, Calote made her curtsey.
“I have seen thee,” quoth Richard. “The day of Parliament I saw thee;” and Calote smiled. “I have read thy father's book,—not all,—there be dull bits; but some I like. Come hither to the window and I 'll show it thee.”
Here one came with a message to Dame Marguerite, and she, glancing irresolute at the maid, at last shrugged her shoulders, and muttering, “'T is but a beggar wench,” went out at the door; but in a moment she came again, and admonishing Stephen, bade him see to it that he played no pranks while she was gone. He, bowing, held the tapestry aside for her.
“Etienne, Etienne!” called Richard. “Bring yet another cushion! The maid shall sit beside me in the window where is light, and the sun falls on her hair.”
“I—I may not sit,” stammered Calote.
“Yea, sweet; if the Prince Richard desire it,” Stephen assured her. And lifting her in his arms, he set her on the cushion by the side of the Prince. The colour came into her face at his touch, and he too was rosy. He busied himself with drawing her narrow gown about her ankles.