The frown showed now on her forehead. Her eyes lifted and gazed beyond him, and Martin Valliant had never seen such eyes before. His mistrust of her had vanished, he knew not why. Paradise had no knowledge of such a creature as this. She had ridden out of the heart of a mystery, and her face was the face of June.
“Fools!”
She was angry, perplexed. And then she smiled down at Martin with quick subtlety.
“Your pardon, father.”
She smiled whole-heartedly as she took stock of his youth.
“What am I saying! I have a vow of silence upon me, save that I may speak to such as you. I am a pilgrim. I had a fellow-pilgrim with me, but she fell sick at Burchester, and I rode on alone. Father Jude’s name was put in my mouth by the prioress of Burchester. Is there not a pilgrim’s rest-house here?”
Martin Valliant was still full of his wonder at her beauty.
“Assuredly. This is the chapelry of St. Florence. The good saint so willed it that all who passed this way should have food and lodging.”
Her face had changed its expression. She showed a sudden reticence, a cold pride.
“St. Florence has my thanks. Will you send your servant to take my horse?”