ment he looked at that fair painted semblance. Did it recall the
past too vividly? His face showed no pain; only tranquillity. His eye
was rather that of a connoisseur than a lover. He smiled gently; then
held it to her.

Mechanically she let the portrait slip through her fingers, and it fell
to the moistened grass near the form of him who had wedded her. Then
she drew back her dress so that it might not touch the body at her feet.

"Have I your Majesty's permission to withdraw?" she said, coldly.

"If you will not accept our poor escort to the king," answered Charles.

"My ladies and myself will dispense with so much honor, Sire," she
returned.

"Such service as we can command is at your disposal, Madam," he
repeated.

"It is not far distant to the chateau, Sire."

"As you will," said the emperor.

With no further word she bowed deeply, turned, and slowly retracing her
steps, mounted her horse, and rode away, followed by her maids and the
troopers of France.

As she disappeared, without one backward glance, the duke gazed quickly
toward the spot where Jacqueline had been standing. He remembered the
young girl had heard his story; he had caught her eyes upon him while
he was telling it; very deep, serious, judicial, they seemed. Were
they weighing his past infatuation for the princess; holding the scales
to his acts? Swiftly he turned to her now, but she had vanished. Save
for rough nurses, companions in arms, moving here and there among the
wounded, he and the emperor stood alone. In the bushes a bird which
had left a nest of fledglings returned and caroled among the boughs; a
clarifying melody after the mad passions of the day. The elder man
noted the direction of the duke's glance, the yellow ribbon on his arm.

"So it was a jestress, not a princess you found, thou dreamer," he
said, half-ironically.

"The daughter of the Constable of Dubrois, Sire," was the reply.

The emperor nodded. "The family colors have changed," he observed
dryly.

"With fortune, Sire."

"Truly," said Charles, "fortune is a jestress. She had like to play on
us this day. But your fever?" he added, abruptly, setting his horse's
head toward camp.

"Is gone, Sire," answered the duke, riding by his side.

"And your injuries?"

"Were so slight they are forgotten."

"Then is the breath of battle better medicine than nostrum or salve.
In youth, 'tis the sword-point; in age, turn we to the hilt-cross. But
this mai