The emperor nodded. "The family colors have changed," he observed dryly.
"With fortune, Sire."
"Truly," said Charles, "fortune is a jestress. She had like to play on us this day. But your fever?" he added, abruptly, setting his horse's head toward camp.
"Is gone, Sire," answered the duke, riding by his side.
"And your injuries?"
"Were so slight they are forgotten."
"Then is the breath of battle better medicine than nostrum or salve. In youth, 'tis the sword-point; in age, turn we to the hilt-cross. But this maid—have you won her?"
The young man changed color. "Won her, Sire?" he replied. "That I know not—no word has passed—"
"No word," said the emperor, doubtingly. "A knight-errant and a castleless maid!"
The duke vouchsafed no answer.