The Arrow Struck With a Click
“Do you know this?” he cried, holding it before us.
“It is the tail of a leopard made into a plume,” said André.
“It will be enough, then,” he said shortly, “to say to the Abbot of Chalonnes that you have seen this.”
He made to go.
“One word more,” called André after him. “Is it too much for us to know your name?”
The stranger stopped on the fringe of the woods. He turned and looked back.
“My father sits upon the English throne,” he said. “I am known as the Black Prince!”
Slowly and sadly, with the body of the old Lord of Gramont borne tenderly among us, we wended our way towards our home. We had much to talk about, but in our grief we held our tongues. We passed each other with bowed heads and sorrowful faces. There was a gloom about the place like the coldness of death.