"Just doom!" she retorted, the crimson once more dyeing her cheeks. "Nay, monsieur, surely it comports not with knightly honour to hint at what it is difficult to assert or prove—nay, I will hear no more of your base insinuations against a brave man. Begone, monsieur, and leave me to my devotions."
"Nay," he snarled, "surely, sweet, 'tis no time for devotions when the star of Venus is on high; let us walk together, and, since it pleases thee not to talk of sick traitors and spies, let us converse on sweeter themes: of our love, fair lady, and of the day when thou shalt be my bride."
She shuddered and drew back from his proffered arm as if he had stung her.
"No, monsieur," she replied, "have done with mockery; you know well my will with regard to our betrothal—as for marriage——"
She checked herself, startled by a sudden change of expression on his face; instead of the suave, mocking smile it had grown grave and hard, whilst the cruel mouth tightened over his gums till his teeth showed white below them, but into the eyes had crept an unmistakable look of fear, as he gazed across the river towards the forest beyond; then, with a quick side glance at her and her maiden, he murmured some excuse for leaving them to their prayers, and with a hurried bow turned and walked swiftly towards the castle.
"What can it be? Saw you aught, Marie?" asked Gwennola, as her maiden, seeing her alone, hastened towards her. "What was it that so startled Monsieur de Coray?—he turned as pale as if he had seen a spirit from the other world."
Both girls crossed themselves, Marie adding that she fancied she had seen a man's figure amongst the trees, but it had disappeared so swiftly that she could not be sure.
"At least it has rid us of an unwelcome intruder," smiled Gwennola. "See, Marie, let us gather some violets and then return to Mass; I would fain demand of the good father how his patient is this morning. Last night he feared fever from the wound in his side where the poor knight's own sword pierced him; only a hair's-breadth more and it would have entered his lung. I must in truth offer three candles at the shrine of our Blessed Lady for sparing so gallant a knight. Think then, my Marie, a hair's-breadth and he had been no more!"
The maid smiled slyly. "The saints be praised, mistress," she replied, adding beneath her breath that the hair's-breadth might well have been passed had the accident befallen some knights, whereat both laughed and fell to picking the violets with light hearts.
It was indeed a fair dawn, and the fragrance and sweetness of it seemed to have entered the turret room where Henri d'Estrailles lay, with the presence of the young châtelaine of the castle.. No fleeting vision this morning, but verily a living presence, stately, smiling, beautiful as she stood by his side, inquiring of Father Ambrose how his patient fared.