“While France writhes in agony under the heel of the invader there shall be no marriage for me,” spoke Jeanne firmly, turning to leave the room.
“Nathless, whether you like it or not, you shall be married,” cried Isabeau, nettled by the girl’s words. “Your father has determined on it. Your plighted husband comes this evening to see you.”
Jeanne stood aghast. She had not dreamed that her parents would go so far. She stood for a moment without speaking, then she said quietly:
“My faith is plighted to none but my Lord. No man has it, nor shall have it until Messire’s mission is completed. ’Tis useless to speak of it.” Again she started to leave the room.
“Nathless, Colin de Greux will be here this evening,” exclaimed Isabeau thoroughly out of patience.
Colin? The merry nature that lay under Jeanne’s gravity surged upward, and a twinkle came into her eyes. All at once she laughed outright. Her mother glanced at her quickly, surprised and relieved.
“There! That’s better,” she said. “He will be here after supper, Jeanne.”
“It matters not, mother.”
Isabeau’s relief changed to perplexity at the words. There was something in the tone that did not satisfy her, but as it was nearer to an affirmative than she had hoped for she was fain to make the best of the matter; so made no further remark.