ringing scorn. "If that is a
man's devotion, I will end my days in a nunnery. I will have none of it,
I tell you. Choose, my fine lover choose between me and your peasant."

The young man looked again at the blazing eyes and then without a word
turned slowly and left the room. A moment later the sound of horses told
that a company had taken the road.

The girl stood listening till the noise died away. Then she sank all
limp in a chair and began to cry. There was wrath in her sobs, and
bitter self-pity. She had made a fine tragedy scene, but the glory of it
was short. She did not regret it, but an immense dreariness had followed
on her heroics. Was there ever, she asked herself, a more unfortunate
lady?

And she had been so happy. Her lover was the bravest gallant that
ever came out of Brittany; rich too, and well beloved, and kin to de
Richemont, the Constable. In the happy days at Beaumanoir he was
the leader in jousts and valiances, the soul of hunting parties, the
lightest foot in the dance. The Beaumanoirs had been a sleepy stock,
ever since that Sir Aimery, long ago, who had gone crusading with Saint
Louis and ridden out of the ken of mortals. Their wealth had bought them
peace, and they had kept on good terms alike with France and Burgundy,
and even with the unruly captains of England. Wars might sweep round
their marches, but their fields were unravaged. Shrewd, peaceable
folk they were, at least the males of the house. The women had been
different, for the daughters of Beaumanoir had been notable for beauty
and wit and had married proudly, till the family was kin to half the
nobleness of Artois and Picardy and Champagne. There was that terrible
great-aunt at Coucy, and the aunts at Beaulieu and Avranches, and the
endless cousinhood stretching as far south as the Nivernais.... And now
the main stock had flowered in her, the sole child of her father, and
the best match to be found that side of the Loire.

She sobbed in the chagrin of a new experience. No one in her soft
cushioned life had ever dared to gainsay her. At Beaumanoir her word
was law. She had loved its rich idleness for the power it gave her.
Luxurious as she was, it was no passive luxury that she craved, but the
sense of mastery, of being a rare thing set apart. The spirit of the
women of Beaumanoir burned fiercely in her.. . She longed to set her
lover in the forefront of the world. Let him crusade if he chose, but
not in a beggars' quarrel. And