“Good lad, knowest thou what banner hangest there?”
“Nay, father,” answered I, “and how should I, since I am but newly come from the far-away castle of Orthez, which, as thou knowest, lies in the lonely marches to the west.”
“Look, son,” then spoke he, “at the greatest treasure of France. ’Tis the Oriflamme, that sacred banner which hath led her hosts so oft to victory.”
And as I looked on it, and knew how many brave knights had found death under its folds, my heart was fuller than ever before. For what is more noble than to give one’s life for one’s country? Even a poor page may do that, though he may never hope to fall under a banner which may be borne only by princes and nobles. That night I slept on a monk’s pallet, spread on the floor of the passage without my Lady’s door, yet were my dreams always of war and clashings of arms, and there floated ever through my visions that wonderous banner of flame-colour.
Next morn we were all astir with the dawn. ’Twas my task to see that my Lady’s litter had been made fresh and seemly, that the pages were all point device in their looks, so that we should not bear our part ill before the nobles coming from Paris to greet us.
About sunset they arrived. The King rode at the head of them all, with his two uncles on either hand, the Duc de Berry on the right and the Duc de Burgoyne on the left. Behind came the Queen and her ladies in an open car, and on either side rode the great lords, two by two, carrying their swords and shining in their armour of gold.
The Duc de Berry cometh forward and, taking my Lady by the hand, led her to the King, who kissed her on the brow, and then took her to the Queen. They were so handsome, these two, the Queen and my Lady, that all marvelled thereat. Queen Isabeau was of a fairness like unto milk and roses, while my Lady, who stood a full hand taller, was of a dark brownness, which looked but the darker beside the golden-haired Queen. Shortly the Queen turneth to a tall and dark noble who stood behind her, and saith she with a smile,—
“Well, Comte, hast thou naught to say?”
Then he came forward, and taking the hand of my Lady in his, looketh her long in the face. At last he looks less stern, and then he saith,
“If thou hadst looked like thy mother, child, thou and I hadst not met to-day. But I see well thou art my own child, and carry in thy brow and eyes the colour of a true daughter of Auvergne.”