Thus the week of waiting passed merrily and rapidly away, and the day of the departure of Courtoise and the squires for Croitôt speedily arrived. With them also went a picked half-dozen men-at-arms, who were bursting with pride at this honor done their brilliant steel and smooth-flanked horses. After their going, when everything in the Castle was in readiness for the reception, a little wave of reaction set in among those left at home. Eleanore retired to commune with her own happy mind. David sought solitude in which to arrange a programme of welcome. And Alixe, seized with a sudden mood of misery, fled away to a certain cave in the base of the Castle cliff, and here wept and raged by herself, for some undefined reason, till her tears cleared the mists from her soul, and she was herself again. Still, as she returned to the Castle, she knew that there remained a bitterness in her heart. Eleanore, who had long ago come to mean mother to her, had, in the last month or two, for the first time given her almost a mother-love, that had fed Alixe’s hungry heart as the body of the Lord had never fed her soul. And now this love was to be taken away again. A real daughter was coming into the household, a daughter by the marriage of the Seigneur; and this, Alixe knew, must be a closer tie than any of time or custom. She must go back to her old place, the place she had held in the days of Laure; but she could never hope to find in the stranger the beautiful friendship that had existed between her and her foster-sister.
That evening was a quiet one in the Castle. Monseigneur of St. Nazaire had arrived in the afternoon; but he seemed wearier than his wont, and, out of consideration for him, Eleanore ordered the general retirement at an early hour.
The next day, the great day, dawned over Le Crépuscule, red and clear and intensely hot. Every one was up before the sun; and when fast had been broken and prayer said in the chapel, every one went forth to the meadow, some even down to the moor, half a mile below the moat, to gather flowers to be scattered in the courtyard for the coming of the bride. The party was expected to arrive by noon at latest; and, as the morning waned, Eleanore found herself uncontrollably nervous. Alixe and David both stood in the watch-tower, looking for the first sign of horses and banners on the edge of the forest at the foot of the long hill. Noon passed, and the earliest hour of afternoon, and the Castle was on tiptoe with excitement. At two o’clock came a cry from Alixe, in the tower. Down the hill, round the sweep in the road, was the flutter of a blue and white pennant, presently flanked by a longer one of gray. There was a pause of two or three moments. Then the trumpeters dashed out from the keep, ranged up before their captain, and blew a quick, triumphal, if somewhat jerky, fanfare. There was an outpouring of retainers into the courtyard, and presently, from far away, came the faint sounds of an answering blast from Gerault’s heralds. As this died away, a great shout of excitement and delight arose from the waiting company, now massed about the flower-strewn drawbridge, and only at this time Madame Eleanore came out of the Castle.
Many eyes were turned upon her as she crossed the courtyard, bearing herself as royally as a princess. She was garbed in flowing robes of damask, white, and olive green, silver-studded, and her head was dressed in those great horns so much in fashion at this time, but seldom affected by her, and now lending an unrivalled majesty to her appearance.
Madame took her place at the right of the drawbridge, and, like all the throng, strained her eyes toward the approaching cavalcade that contained the future of Le Crépuscule. Apparently madame was very calm. In reality her heart beat so that it was like to suffocate her, for now Gerault’s form took on distinct shape before her eyes. The sun shot serpents of light around his helmet and his steel-encased arms, while over his body-pieces he wore the silken surcoat of pale gray, embroidered with the arms of his Castle. Gerault’s lance, held in rest, fluttered a pennant of azure and white, the colors of his lady; and Courtoise, who rode just behind his master, carried the gray streamer of Le Crépuscule.
Amid a tumult of blaring trumpets, vigorous shouting, and eager choruses of welcome and greeting, the Lord of Crépuscule, with his bride on her white palfrey beside him, rode across the drawbridge of the Twilight Castle. Just inside the courtyard Gerault halted, leaped from his horse, and ran quickly to embrace his mother. When he had held her for a moment in his arms, he turned, lifted his lady from her horse, and, amid an embarrassing silence of curiosity, led the young girl up to madame.
“In the name of Le Crépuscule and of its lord, I bid thee welcome to this Castle, my daughter! Good people, give greeting to your lady!”
Men and maidens, serving-maids and henchmen, still gazing wide-eyed at the figure of the Seigneur’s wife, sent forth an inarticulate buzz of welcome and of admiration; and, when it had died away, Gerault took his bride by the hand, and, with Eleanore upon the other side, moved slowly across the courtyard toward the Castle doorway, where now stood the Bishop of St. Nazaire, waiting to add his welcome to the newly wed. Nor did the Bishop refrain from a little exclamation of pleasure at sight of the young wife, as she sank upon her knees before his mitre, to receive a blessing.
A few moments later the whole company crowded into the brilliantly decorated hall and moved about, each selecting a desired place at the great horseshoe table ready prepared for the feast. Gerault was standing in the middle of the room, looking about him in surprise and pleasure at the preparations made to do him honor. Presently, however, he turned to his mother, who stood close at his elbow, and said, after a second’s hesitation: “I do not see Alixe, madame. Is she not here in the Castle?”
Eleanore looked about her in some surprise. “Hast not seen her? Where hath she been? Ah, yes, there she stands, in yonder corner. Alixe! Hither!”