Then the tapestry lifted, and there came into the room a noble lady, and two other following after; and all these had been a-weeping.
“O madame!” cried Richard, and went and cast himself into the arms of this lady. “My grandfather is dead, and we are in sore straits. Would God my father were alive this day.” So he began to sob; and the Queen-Mother took him up in her arms and bore him away, and her ladies went also.
But of three young gentlemen that stood in the doorway with torches, for now the day was spent, one only departed,—and he perforce, for the passage was darker than this room, and the ladies called for light. But the other two came in, and:—
“Here 's where thou 'rt hid!” they cried. “By St. Thomas o' Canterbury, a fair quarry!”
They thrust their torches in Calote's sweet face and set their impudent young eyes upon her. Yet did her loveliness somewhat abash them.
“Sirs,” said Etienne, “ye do annoy this damosel. Pray you, stand farther off!”
“Is 't thy leman, or dost instruct the Prince?” asked he that was elder of these two lads.
“For shame, Sir John!” said Etienne. “Moreover, I beseech you use more reverence toward the King, since he is come to his inheritance.”
“Ah!” cried Calote. The other lording had taken off her kerchief, so that her hair was loosened; and now he knelt to lift her ragged skirt where her white ankle showed, and he touched this little ankle delicately, the while he looked up in her face and said:—
“Shall I kiss thy foot, mistress? Yet, say the word and I 'll kiss thy lips. Wilt play with me? Thou shalt find me more merry paramour than”—