"None--only a message," said De Vitry, while the others busied themselves with their letters they had received; and, as he spoke, he drew the fair young girl aside, adding, "I must deliver it quickly, for I must be back ere I am missed."
What he said to her in that low whisper, who shall tell? Her cheek turned pale, and then glowed crimson red, and her knees shook, and her lips quivered, so as to stop the words that struggled for utterance, and yet there was joy in her eyes. It was as if he had given her the key of some treasury in her own heart which overwhelmed her with the first sight of the riches within.
"A soldier's love, a soldier's hand, a noble name, an honourable name--that is all I have to offer," were the words of De Vitry. "I know I am nearly old enough to be your father; but if you don't mind that, I don't."
He paused a moment as if for an answer, while Blanche Marie stood still trembling and silent; and, with a shade upon his broad, frank brow, he was turning away, when she murmured:
"Stay! stay!" and, drawing the glove from her hand, she put it into his.
"I will carry it into the cannon's mouth," he said, hiding it in his scarf; and then he kissed her hand, and returned to the old count and her fair cousin. "Lady, I must go," he said, taking Leonora's gloved hand, and bending over it. "My lord the count, farewell. We shall all meet again soon, I hope; and, in the meantime, you shall hear no evil of De Vitry, unless some of those foul cannon shot carry off his head. Adieu! adieu!"
In the meantime, Lorenzo had hurried forth, and stood by the side of the king's horse. Charles gazed kindly at him, and inquired after his health, while Ludovic the Moor bent his eyes upon him, but without suffering the slightest shade of enmity to cross his face.
"How goes it with you, fair cousin?" asked the king: "think you that you are able to ride on with the army towards Naples in a day or two?"
"Quite able, sir," answered the young man; "to-morrow, if it should be your Majesty's pleasure."
"Pale--pale," said the monarch, who seemed to have been studying his countenance. "Is that with loss of blood, Lorenzo, or the venom of the sword?"