Denise ate with such hurry and such artificial greed that Marpasse could not help but laugh.
“My teeth are not so good as yours,” she said; “if your legs are as sound we shall not do amiss.”
Denise’s eyes were on the red pavilion. The flap thereof was open, and in the black slit that clove like a wedge into the colour, Denise thought that she saw a man standing and looking towards where she and Marpasse sat. Marpasse was still at her meal, when two men-at-arms came out of the red pavilion, carrying their shields as servers carry dishes to a table. They came over the grass towards the women, while a man in a blue surcoat appeared at the door of the pavilion, and stood as though to watch.
Denise half rose, but Marpasse caught her, and pulled her back.
“Sit still. You are far too simple.”
“It is Gaillard, yonder!”
“Yes, yes. Fool him first, my dear, and then run away when he is not looking. That is what we women have to do when men are the stronger.”
The two soldiers came up, and stood before Denise. One carried food and a flask of wine in the hollow of his shield; the other, a red scarf and a silver girdle.
“Messire Gaillard, our lord, yonder, begs for the Lady Denise’s good-will.”
Marpasse beckoned with her arm.