"Art ready, Oswald?" asked Geoffrey, after Sir Oliver had warmly greeted his faithful squire.
"All is ready," replied Oswald, "but I bear a message from the Lady Aimée. She would see thee in the great hall."
With mingled sensations of hope and fear Geoffrey made his way to the girl's presence. Seated on an oak chair, with two tiring maids in attendance, the Lady Aimée d'Aulx awaited the coming of her captor. She had discarded her steel corselet, and had taken particular care that her tresses should be rearranged, while in place of her riding-habit she had assumed a dark blue kirtle with hanging sleeves slashed with murrey-coloured silk, and on her head a high sugar-loafed cap after the fashion of the times.
"Thy pleasure, fair lady?" exclaimed Geoffrey, louting low before her.
"Squire Geoffrey, I must needs make amends for my ill-natured tongue. Thy friend Oswald hath told me concerning thy generous and courteous treatment of my father. I crave thy forgiveness."
Geoffrey vehemently protested that no forgiveness was necessary, since nothing untoward could fall from the lips of the daughter of Sir Raoul d'Aulx. Then time passed rapidly and unheeded, for the two were engaged in animated conversation, regardless of the presence of the tiring maids who had discreetly withdrawn to one of the alcoves.
At length the squire prepared to take his departure, for his ears had caught the warning long-drawn blast of a trumpet in the courtyard.
"And hast thou truly forgotten what I said concerning my father's ransom?" asked the girl.
"Ay, truly."
"And dost thou not require that I should be held to ransom, squire Geoffrey?"