It was the evening of Saturday, the 16th of October, 1347—the day preceding that which was the anniversary of the battle of Neville's Cross—and Calais was about to be left to the keeping of Aymery de Pavie and the garrison with which he had been furnished to guard the town against any attempt to recover it by force or stratagem.
Next day the squires and pages of the Prince of Wales were to embark; and I, by no means sorry to exchange the dulness of the conquered town for Westminster and Windsor, was seated, in solitude, in one of the chambers of the castle appropriated to the prince's household, reflecting on the events of a twelvemonth which, assuredly, had been somewhat eventful, and endeavouring, with juvenile enthusiasm, to anticipate what the coming year would bring forth, when I was suddenly aroused from my reverie by the sound of light footsteps, and, looking up with a start, I found that a woman of tall and elegant form was before me.
I rose mechanically, and, as in duty bound, bent my head with all the respect which an apprentice of chivalry owes to the sex which he has solemnly sworn to serve, and protect, and defend. But I did so with very peculiar feelings. In truth, though my visitor was closely veiled, I had an instinctive belief that the figure was not wholly unknown to me, and that it was associated with memories the reverse of agreeable. I had no time, however, to recall circumstances, or to speculate on probabilities, for, without delay, she raised her veil, and looked me full in the face; and, as she did so, I recognised, with astonishment, the woman whom I had seen on the night of my mysterious adventure at Caen.
I started again, and this time as if an adder had stung me; but I rapidly remembered the resolutions I had formed as to that memorable occasion; and, quickly recovering my serenity, I motioned her to a seat, resumed mine, and spoke first.
"Methinks, madam," said I, in a significant tone, "we have met before."
"It is true," she replied, without evincing the slightest agitation. "But it is not of our having met that I would speak. So far as that meeting is concerned, let bygones be bygones, and let us speak of something of more importance to you—mayhap, also, to me. It is meet that you should know I have on my mind what deeply concerns you, and therefore am I here."
"Gramercy for the interest you show in me, madam," exclaimed I calmly. "I would fain hope, however, that what you have to say may be spoken without my drinking to strengthen my heart against failing during the narrative; for, on my faith, I cannot but deem that wine drunk in your presence becomes wondrously intoxicating."
And I looked at my fair visitor with an air of superiority; for, in truth, I felt, at the moment, that I could not twice be deluded by the same person. Nevertheless, she was utterly unmoved, and, after a pause, resumed.
"A truce to jesting, young sir," said she, "and listen to me with attention, for know that I am in possession of that secret which, of all others, you desire to gain possession of—I mean the secret of your birth."