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306 leaned back in his chair, a litter of nut-shells upon his lap, his huge head half buried in a cushion, while his eyes wandered with an amused gleam from his dame to the staring, enraptured Englishmen. Then, last of all, that pale clear-cut face, that sweet clear voice, with its high thrilling talk of the deathlessness of glory, of the worthlessness of life, of the pain of ignoble joys, and of the joy which lies in all pains which lead to a noble end. Still, as the shadows deepened, she spoke of valour and virtue, of loyalty, honour and fame, and still they sat drinking in her words while the fire burned down and the red ash turned to grey.

'By the sainted Ives!' cried Du Guesclin at last, 'it is time that we spoke of what we are to do this night, for I cannot think that in this wayside auberge there are fit quarters for an honourable company.'

Sir Nigel gave a long sigh as he came back from the dreams of chivalry and hardihood into which this strange woman's words had wafted him. 'I care not where I sleep,' said he; 'but these are indeed somewhat rude lodgings for this fair lady.'

'What contents my lord contents me,' quoth she. 'I perceive, Sir Nigel, that you are under vow,' she added, glancing at his covered eye.

'It is my purpose to attempt some small deed,' he answered.

'And the glove—is it your lady's?'

'It is indeed my sweet wife's.'

'Who is doubtless proud of you.'

'Say rather I of her,' quoth he quickly. 'God He knows that I am not worthy to be her humble servant. It is easy, lady, for a man to ride forth in the light of day, and do his devoir when all men have eyes for him. But in a woman's heart there is a strength and truth which asks no praise, and can but be known to him whose treasure it is.'

The Lady Tiphaine smiled across at her husband. 'You have often told me, Bertrand, that there were very gentle knights among the English,' quoth she.