Page:Margaret of Angoulême, Queen of Navarre (Robinson 1886).djvu/183

168 of her kin, she set out for the monastery where he dwelt, having left nothing in her tire-closet that could heighten the aspect of her beauty; and sure she felt that, if he could but see her once and hear her speak, it would be impossible that the flame, so long continued in their hearts, should not light up again, and stronger than before. Therefore, entering the monastery about the end of Vespers, she had him called to a chapel in the cloisters. He, who knew not who was asking for him, went to fight the hardest battle he had ever fought. And when she saw him, all pale and undone, so that she scarcely knew him again, yet filled none the less with a grace no less amiable than before, then Love constrained her to stretch out her arms, thinking to embrace him; but the pity of seeing him in such a state sent such a sudden weakness to her heart that she fell down fainting. Then the poor monk, who was not destitute of brotherly charity, lifted her up and sate her on a seat there was in the chapel. And he himself, who no less needed succour, made as if he felt no passion, strengthening his heart in the love of his God against the opportunity that tempted him, so that he seemed, from his countenance, to ignore that which he saw. She, coming to life again, turned on him her eye, that were so beautiful and piteous they would have softened stone, and began to tell him all the thoughts she had to draw him from that place; to which he answered in the most virtuous manner that he could. But in the end the poor monk, feeling his heart melt before the abundant tears of his darling (as one who sees Love, the cruel archer, whose wound he has long suffered from, make ready his golden arrow to strike him in a fresh and mortal part), even so he fled away from Love and his Beloved, as