kissed the Count's hand and his sister's forehead, saluted Milo, and
went out humming a tune. Milo withdrew, the servants bowed themselves
away. Richard stood up, a loose-limbed young giant, and narrowed his
eyes.

'Nest thee, nest thee, my bird,' he said low; and Jehane's lips parted.
Slowly she left her stool by the fire, but quickened as she went; and at
last ran tumbling into his arms.

His right hand embraced her, his left at her chin held her face at
discretion. Like a woman, she reproached him for what she dearly loved.

'Lord, lord, how shall I serve the cup and platter if you hold me so
fast?'

'Thou art my cup, thou art my supper.'

'Thin fare, poor soul,' she said; but was glad of his foolishness.

Later, they sat by the hearth, Jehane on Richard's knee, but doubtfully
his, being troubled by many things. He had no retrospects nor
afterthoughts; he tried to coax her into pliancy. It was the fires in
the north that distressed her. Richard made light of them.

'Dear,' he said, 'the King my father is come up with a host to drive the
Count his son to bed. Now the Count his son is master of a good bed, to
which he will presently go; but it is not the bed of the King his
father. That, as you know, is of French make, neither good Norman, nor
good Angevin, nor seethed in the English mists. By Saint Maclou and the
astonishing works he did, I should be bad Norman, and worse Angevin, and