One summer evening, after Bertille had read aloud the vesper prayer, her father, having made the sign of the cross upon his brow, rose, and went to the door of the apartment, which opened upon the street. Standing upon the threshold, he was enjoying the freshness of the twilight air, when suddenly he was aware of a commotion in the neighbouring street—the stir of a great crowd, men's voices, and the clatter of horses' hoofs.
"Bertille!" he called, "Come, come quickly, or you will be too late!" And, indeed, already there drew near a great cortège, ecclesiastics for the most part, proceeding in some dis-array, and hastening, because of the late hour, and the distance they had yet to go.
King Gontran had convoked a council in the church of St. Marcel—the town then named Hobiliacus—and thither this cortège of bishops and priests was bent, eager to arrive before nightfall, that they might begin their conference early the next morning.
Bertille came to the door just as the last members of the cortège were passing. Among them was a rider whose costume showed plainly that he was no ecclesiastic. From the scutcheon embroidered upon the front of his garment, he appeared to be a noble—lord, perhaps, of some neighbouring kingdom. His steed was rearing; and he, not averse from showing to the crowd his strength and skill in horsemanship, let it plunge at its will. Then he reined it in, and was looking proudly around him at the moment when Bertille ran to the door. His eyes rested upon her, in a fixed gaze. Bertille felt the stare; and shuddered before it.
"Father, that horseman is not following the cortège," said the girl, blushing and hiding her head behind Vulfrand's shoulder. "Let us go in," she added, "I have seen enough."
"What is the matter, ma belle, are you feeling ill?"
"No, but that lord's stare has tired me."
"And reddened you, too, little angel of Paradise! But in with you! though there's small harm in being seen; even when one is as pretty as you." He kissed her forehead, smiling, and together they went in. They told the mother what had chanced. "His eyes," said Bertille, "were upon me like a serpent's upon a bird."
Night fell, and with it came the hour of sleep.