"The feast of Lupus!" sighed Hildegarde, pausing in her needlework. "I wish that I might attend it with you, dear lord."
"And why, sweetheart?"
"Fastrada, tell his Majesty of the feast."
Thus called upon by her royal mistress, Fastrada raised her eyes with a timid glance, which, as she spoke, faltered and turned appealingly aside toward Olvir.
"Your Majesty," she murmured, "it is said that the Vascon duke has planned his feast after the manner of the old-time Romans. Instead of seats, he will place couches for the guests to recline upon while they dine."
"What!--to lie and sup together? The Vascon proves his Merwing blood. None other would think of mating bed and board. Yet he is host; we must make the best of it."
"Surely no harm will follow, sire," said Gerold. "Abbot Fulrad and other churchmen will be there, and thus to act out an ancient custom will give play for much merriment."
"Joy works no harm," replied Karl, nodding. "At the least, we shall give the duke's hospitality fair trial. Meantime, there is much else to demand our care. Farewell for the present, my Dane hawk, and you, young Samson."
All on the bench rose at the word of dismissal. Olvir, with a bow to the queen and a kindly glance for Rothada, turned quickly away after Gerold and Liutrad, resolutely refraining from a single glance at the lovely bench-mate whom he thus suddenly deserted.
In vain Fastrada gazed longingly after the Northman; while, no less vainly, Roland lingered for a parting look from the girl. Both were alike disappointed.