This time Denise’s eyes were troubled, they had no answer.
“Nowhere, and anywhere? God o’ me. I learnt that road long ago, and a rough road it is. Come with us, if it pleases you. I am a wise crow.”
Denise looked puzzled. She liked Marpasse, and human sympathy was something, but she could make nothing either of her or of Isoult, save that Isoult had a jealous temper. They were so very gay for beggars, nor had they the air of being upon a pilgrimage.
“Perhaps you are for Canterbury?” she asked.
Marpasse sat back on her heels, and opened her mouth wide to laugh.
“No, my dear, we are not for St. Thomas’s shrine. We are in search of service, Isoult and I. Isoult is travelling to find service in the household of some lord.”
Denise’s eyes were innocent enough as she looked at Isoult, but the girl bit her lips, and turned away. Marpasse had mastered her laughter. On the contrary she was studying Denise with a questioning frown.
“Are you after St. Thomas’s blessing, my dear?” she asked.
Denise did not know how to answer her, and Marpasse, who was wondrous quick for so big a woman, picked up Denise’s shoes and began to lace them on.
“You can come with us as far as you please, my sister,” she said, “and when that body there is asleep some time, you and I can talk together. I am called Marpasse, and I am a very wicked woman, and the good priests curse me, and the bad priests curse me also, but look after me along the road. I am so wicked that I shall certainly be claimed by the devil one day. That is what I am, my dear; but a speckled apple is sometimes sweet under the skin.”