d," said Meroflede in a vibrating and
sonorous voice; "and so you have come to take possession of my abbey?"

"This abbey has been given me and my companions of war by Charles, the
chief of the Franks. Yes, I have come to take possession."

Meroflede indulged in a laugh of disdain, and despite the shadow that
veiled her face, her laughter exposed to the eyes of Berthoald two rows
of pearly white teeth. The abbess gave her horse a slight touch of her
heel and bade the young man follow.

At the moment when Meroflede's horse was put on the march,
Broute-Saule--now healed of the peckings of the sparrow-hawk, and no
longer clad in rags, but wearing on the contrary an elegant green
jacket, buck-skin hose, neat leather shoes and a rich fur cap--placed
himself at the horse's head with his hands on the reins. Thus walking
between the abbess and Berthoald, the young hawk thief watched
attentively the slightest motion of Meroflede and covered her with
ardent and jealous eyes. From time to time he cast an uneasy glance at
the young chief. The torch-bearing slaves followed close behind the
abbess and Berthoald to the inner courtyard. Meroflede entered with
Berthoald and indicated to him fifty colonists in martial order and
armed with bows and slings.

"Do you think these premises are sufficiently protected, my valiant
captain?" asked Meroflede.

"For me and my men, a slinger or an archer is no more dangerous than a
dog that barks at a distance. We let the arrows whiz, the stones fly and
get within our sword's length. To-morrow at break of day you will know
what you have to expect, dame abbess ... should you insist upon
defending the abbey."

Meroflede again laughed and said: "If you love a fight at close quarters
your taste will be suited to-morrow."

"Not to-morrow!" cried Broute-Saule, casting upon Berthoald a look of
concentrated hatred and mistrust; "if you wish to fight, fight on the
spot ... right here in this yard, by the light of the torches and under
the eyes of our holy abbess; although I have neither casque nor cuirass,
I am your man!"

Meroflede playfully struck Broute-Saule's cap with her whip and said
smiling: "Hold your tongue, slave!"

Berthoald made no answer to the challenge of the hot-headed lad, and
silently followed the abbess, who, riding out of this second yard, moved
towards a spacious building from which confused cries were heard to
proceed. She leaned over her horse, and said a few words in the e