“You will attend me, my friends, through bloodshed and darkness,” she said; “and whenever my voice is raised, and wherever it may be heard, you will obey its call?”
“We have sworn it, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart.
“I see dark days; I fear an old house is poor and enfeebled, and is tottering to its ruin. But it is a good providence that sends such friends to its succour, and they shall be remembered in my prayers. At six of the morning we get upon our road. I now give you good-night, my friends; but in the meanwhile I would have you sleep warily, for at any hour I may inquire if you are of a good vigilance.”
I cannot say with what enchantment we watched this fair and imperious thing ascend the stairs of the inn to her chamber.
“That is a sweet quean,” said the Count of Nullepart, calling for a new bottle of wine.
“And a brave, forsooth,” said I. “What, I wonder, can be her degree?”
“To-morrow,” said the Count of Nullepart, “will unmask this fair unknown.”
“How singular it is,” said I, “that she should ride unattended over the country and in these unseasonable hours.”
“To-morrow we shall understand it all,” said the Count of Nullepart. “Then shall we learn to what high destiny we are called.”
“I am deceived,” said I, “if there is not to be a great work toward. By my faith, how beautiful she is!”