"Sir knight," she was heard to say, "I have asked Roy, who came hither this morning early to serve our Mass. He has seen no one."
"Who is Roy?" said the knight sharply.
"He was server this morning. He is asleep after a long journey."
"Where?"
"Sir, we have little enough room. He is in my own chamber lying on my bed."
The knight gave a dry laugh.
"You mean that I may not venture into a lady's chamber, shameface? Well, a boy may go where a boy is, I suppose. Vincent, go and explore the acolyte."
"The page may come," said Alice, and watched him go, not without interest, perhaps not without amusement.
The unconscious Vincent was Isoult's next visitant, stepping briskly into the room. He came right up to the bed as in his right and element, a boy dealing with a boy's monkey tricks. One watchful grey eye, the curve of one rosy cheek peering from the blankets, told him a new story.
"Oh, Isoult," says he in a twitter, "is it you indeed?"