At this Azénor the Pale grew still paler, and was long silent.
“If that be so,” she said, “it will be well that I seek my marriage chamber early, for from my bed I shall not be raised except for burial.”
That night her little page stole through the window.
“Lady,” he said, “a great and brilliant company come hither. The Seigneur Yves is at their head, and behind him ride cavaliers and a long train of gentlemen. He is mounted on a white horse, with trappings of gold.”
Azénor wept sorely.
“Unhappy the hour that he comes!” she cried, wringing her hands. “Unhappy be my father and mother who have done this thing!”
Sorely wept Azénor when going to the church that day. She set forth with her intended husband, riding on the crupper of his horse. Passing by Mezléan she said:
“I pray you let me enter this house, Seigneur, for I am fatigued with the journey, and would rest for a space.”
“That may not be to-day,” he replied; “to-morrow, if you wish it.”