"Go now, Roy, with Balthasar," said she. "He will show thee whatever is needful to be known. Afterwards thou shalt come into hall and serve at thy lord's chair. And so long as he is here thou shalt serve him, and sleep at his chamber door. I am sure that thou art faithful and worthy of so much at my hands. And now, Prosper," she turned to say, as if that business were happily done, "you shall finish your story of the Princess of Tunis and the Neapolitan barber, which you broke off so abruptly yestereven. Then we will go to supper."
The audience was over; Prosper received his wife's reverence with a blush, sighed as he saw her back out of the presence, and sighed still more as he turned to his task of entertaining the great lady his hostess.
Isoult was led away by Balthasar into the pages' quarters, and escaped thence with an examination which was not so searching as it might have been had she not passed for squire to such a redoubtable smiter. She was not long finding out that Prosper was the god of all the youth in High March. His respect won her respect, though it could win him no more from her. She heard their glowing reports, indeed, with a certain scorn—to think that they should inform her of him, forsooth! From the buttery she was taken to run the gauntlet of the women in the servants' hall. Here the fact that she made a very comely boy—a boy agile, dark-eyed, and grave, who looked to have something in reserve—worked her turn where Prosper's prowess might have failed her. The women found her frugality of speech piquant; it laid down for her the lines of a reputation for experienced gallantry—the sort which asks a little wearily, Is this worth my while? It seemed to them that in matters of love Roy might be hard to please. This caused a stir in one or two bosoms. A certain Melot, a black-eyed girl, plump, and an easy giggler, avowed in strict confidence to her room-fellow that night, that her fate had been told her by a Bohemian—a slight and dark-eyed youth was to be her undoing. You will readily understand that this was duly reported by the room-fellow to Balthasar, and by him to Isoult, following the etiquette observed in such matters. Isoult frowned, said little of it, and thought less.
With the other pages she waited behind her master's chair at supper. He still sat at the Countess's right hand as the principal guest (evidently) in her esteem, if not in degree. Isoult had prepared herself for what was to come as best she could. She had expounded, as you have been told, her simple love-lore to Alice of the Hermitage; but it is doubtful if she had known how much like a cow beset by flies in a dry pasture a lover may be made. Every little familiar gesture was a prick. Their talk of things which had happened to them counselled her to despair. When the Countess leaned to Prosper's chair she measured how long this could be borne; but when by chance her hand touched on his arm, to rest there for a moment, Isoult was as near jealousy as a girl, in the main logical by instinct and humble by conviction, could ever be. Then came doubt, and brought fear to drag her last hand from the rock and let her fall. Fear came stealthily to her, like a lurking foe, out of the Countess's unconscious eyes. Isoult had nothing to hope for that she had not already: she knew that now she was blessed beyond all women born; she loved, she was near her beloved; but her heart was crying out at the cold and the dark. There was love in the Countess's looks; Isoult could not doubt it. And Prosper did not take it amiss. Here it was that Isoult was blind, for Prosper had no notions whatever about the Countess's looks.
He was in very high spirits that supper. He liked Isoult to be by him again, liked it for her sake as well as for the sake of the escapade. He had watched her a good deal during the day, and found her worth perusal. She had picked up her good looks again, went bravely dressed in his livery of white and green, with his hooded falcon across her bosom and embroidered slantwise upon the fold of her doublet. Thus she made a very handsome page. She was different though. He thought that there was now about her an allure, a grave richness, a reticence of charm, an air of discretion which he must always have liked without knowing that he liked it. Yet he had never noticed it before. The child was almost a young woman, seemed taller and more filled out. No doubt this was true, and no doubt it braved her for the carrying of her boy's garnish, otherwise a risky fardel for a young woman. He was pleased with her, and with himself for being pleased. So he was very merry, ate well, drank as the drink came, and every time Isoult brought him the cup he looked at her trying to win an answer. Since no answer was to be had he was forced to be satisfied with looking. Once or twice in serving him their hands touched. This also pleased him, but he was shocked to find this rosy girl with the shining eyes had hands as cold as ice. And he so well disposed to her! And she his wife! He pursued his researches in this sort at the cost of more stoups of wine than were needful or his rule. He grew enthusiastic over it, and laid up a fine store of penalties for future settlement. The enthusiast must neglect something; Prosper, being engrossed with his page and his wine, neglected the Countess. This lady, after tapping with her foot in her chamber till the sound maddened her, withdrew early. Immediately she had gone Prosper announced great fatigue. He sent for his page and a torch. Isoult escaped from the noisy herd round the buttery fire, lit her torch at a cresset, disregarded Melot languishing in a dark corner, and met her lord in mid hall.
"Take me to bed, Roy," said he, looking at her strangely.
Isoult led the way; he followed her close.
She went into the dark room with her torch while Prosper stood in the doorway. She lighted the candles: he could see how deliberately she did it, without waver or tremor. His own heart thumping at such a rate, it was astounding to him to watch. Then she beat out the torch on the hearth, and waited. Three strides brought him into the middle of the room, but the look of her stopped him there. She was rather pale, very grave, looked taller than her height; her eyes seemed like twin lakes of dark water, unruffled and unwinking. Neither of them spoke, though there was fine disorder in two hearts, and one was crying inwardly to Love and the Virgin. Isoult spoke first in a very low voice.
"Lord, now let me go," she said.
The next minute he had her in his arms.