they drew rein she did not move. Her face, moon-shaped, was as pale as a
moon; her loose hair, catching light, framed it with gold. She was all
white against the dark, seemed to loom in it taller than she was or
could have been. She was Jehane Saint-Pol, Jehane 'of the Fair Girdle,'
so called by her lovers and friends, to whom for a matter of two years
this hot-coloured, tallest, and coldest of the Angevins had been light
of the world.

The check upon their greeting was the most curious part of a curious
business, that one should have travelled and the other watched so long,
and neither urge the end of desire. The Count sat still upon his horse,
so for duty's sake did the aching abbot; the girl stood still in the
entry-way, holding up her dripping torch. Then, 'Child, child,' cried
the Count, 'how is it with thee?' His voice trembled, and so did he.

She looked at him, slow to answer, though the hand upon her bosom swayed
up and down.

'Do you see the fires?' she said. 'They have been there six nights.' He
was watching them then through the pine-woods, how they shot into the
sky great ribbons of light, flickered, fainted out, again glowed
steadily as if gathering volume, again leaped, again died, ebbing and
flowing like a tide of fire.

'The King will be at Louviers,' said Richard. He gave a short laugh.
'Well, he shall light us to bed. Heart of a man, I am sick of all this.
Let me in.'

She stood aside, and he rode boldly into the tower, stooping as he
passed her to touch her cheek. She looked up quickly, then let in the