doubt. But certainly he was a
poet. He saw Jehane all glorious, and gave thanks for the sight. He felt
to touch heaven when he neared her; but he did not covet her possession,
at the moment. Perhaps he felt that he did possess her: it is a poet's
way. So little, at any rate, did he covet, that, having made up his mind
what he would do, he sent Gaston of Bearn to Saint-Pol-la-Marche with a
letter for Jehane, in which he said: 'In two days I shall see you for
the last or for all time, as you will'--and then possessed himself in
patience the appointed number of hours.

Gaston of Bearn, romantic figure in those grey latitudes, pale,
black-eyed, freakishly bearded, dressed in bright green, rode his way
singing, announced himself to the lady as the Child of Love; and when he
saw her kissed her foot.

'Starry Wonder of the North,' he said, kneeling, 'I bring fuel to your
ineffable fires. Our King of Lovers and Lover among Kings is all at your
feet, sighing in this paper.' He seemed to talk in capitals, with a
flourish handed her the scroll. He had the gratification to see her clap
a hand to her side directly she touched it; but no more. She perused it
with unwavering eyes in a stiff head.

'Farewell, sir,' she said then; 'I will prepare for my lord.'

'And I, lady,' said Gaston, 'in consequence of a vow I have vowed my
saint, will await his coming in the forest, neither sleeping nor eating
until he has his enormous desires. Farewell, lady.'

He went out backwards, to keep his promise. The brown woodland was gay
with him for a day and a night; for he sang nearly all the time with
unflagging spirits. But Jehane spent part of the interval in the chapel,
with her hands crossed upon her fine bosom. The God in her heart fought
with Him on the altar. She said no prayers; but when she left the place
she sent a messenger for Gilles de Gurdun, the blunt-nosed Norman knight
who loved her so much that he said nothing about it.

This Gurdun, pricking through the woods, came upon Gaston of Bearn,
dazzling as a spring tree and singing like an inspired machine. He
pulled up at the wonderful sight, and scowled. It is the proper Norman
greeting. Gaston treated him as part of the landscape, like the rest of
it mournful, but provocative of song.

'Give you good-day, beau sire,' said Gilles; Gaston waved his hand and
went on singing at the top of his voice. Then Gilles, who was pressed,
tried to pass; and Gaston folded his arms.

'Ha, bee