y of your coming."

"Where is she?"

"Your wife or Clotilde?"

Now all through the early morning Charles had longed for one as for the
other. But there was nothing of that in his voice.

"Clotilde," he said.

"I shall make inquiry if she has arrived," mumbled Philip into his
beard, and went away.

So it came about that Charles was alone when he saw the child and
caught her up in his hungry arms. As for Clotilde, her fear died at once
in his embrace. When Philip returned he found them thus and coughed
discreetly. So Charles released the child and put her on her feet.

"I have," said Philip, "another member of your family under my roof as
to whom you have made no inquiry."

"I have secured that for which I came," said Charles haughtily.

But his eyes were on Philip and a question was in them. Philip, however,
was not minded to play Charles' game, but his own, and that not too
fast.

"In that event, cousin," he replied, "let the little maid eat and then
take her away. And since it is a Sunday and the Truce of God, we can
drink to the Christmas season. Even quarrelling dogs have intervals of
peace."

So perforce, because the question was still in his heart if not in his
eyes, Charles drank with his cousin and enemy Philip. But with his hand
in that small hand of Clotilde's which was so like her mother's.

Philip's expansiveness extended itself to the men-at-arms who still sat
woodenly on the drawbridge. He sent them hot liquor, for the day was
cold, and at such intervals as Charles' questioning eyes were turned
away, he rubbed his hands together furtively, as a man with a secret.

"A prosperous year," said Philip.

Charles grunted.

"We shall have snow before night," said Philip.

"Humph!" said Charles and glanced toward the sky, but made no move to
go.

"The child is growing."

To this Charles made no reply whatever and Philip bleated on. "Her
mother's body," he said, "but your eyes and hair, cousin."

Charles could stand no more. He pushed the child away and rose to his
feet. Philip, to give him no tithe of advantage, rose too.

"Now," said Charles squarely, "where is my wife? Is she hiding from me?"

Then Philip's face must grow very grave and his mouth set in sad lines.

"She is ill, Charles. I would have told you sooner, but you lacked
interest."

Charles swallowed to steady his voice.

"How--ill?"

"A short and violent illness," said Philip. "All of last night the women
have been with