“Can you carry me down?”
“Try me,” he said, as though he would have carried Goliath into Gath.
In a moment she was on the sill, and holding out her hands to Bertrand with a confidence that thrilled even the rough lad’s heart. He took her in his arms, holding her very sacredly, and so carried her down the ladder. Tiphaïne’s face was turned to his, and she was smiling at him out of her wonderful eyes—eyes that seemed to make him live anew. He set her down upon the grass, though one long strand of her hair still lay upon his shoulder.
“How strong you are, Bertrand!”
“Am I?” And he blushed and chuckled sheepishly, flattered by this maid of seven.
“Yes, and you are gentle, too. How can they call you clumsy! What a lovely morning! See how the white clouds glisten! I should like a ride in the meadows, Bertrand.”
It was as though her word were law with the lad. He bade her sit down on a bench by the fish-pond, and, running into the stable, he saddled and bridled her palfrey with his own hands. Then, blundering into the kitchen quarters, he found the pantler polishing wooden platters in his den. The man glanced up as Bertrand darkened the doorway, and, paying no heed to him, went on with his work.
“Jehan, the key of the wardrobe. Quick!”
Jehan stared.
“What may you want?” he asked, indifferently, not troubling to be courteous.