had likened her to a peach-blossom, for her
complexion had that even delicate flush, not white and red in spots, but
roseate everywhere, like the heart of a conch shell or the breast of a
pink curlew.

Abounding health spake in her buoyant step, but she was fine as well as
strong. The rounded contours of her cheeks and shoulders were soft as
those of a babe, and Richard had seen naught in all his life so
exquisite as her dimpling smile. Would you know with more particularity
how she appeared to him, look you straightway at the sweet maid in the
foreground of that _Coronation of the Virgin_ which Fra Lippo Lippi
painted; and from the framing of wayward little curls that make their
escape from a veil of silver tissue, a tangle withal to mesh a man's
heart in, from that face, I say (though the painter-monk had ne'er the
felicity to see her), Sancie's round eyes will search your soul and will
remain in your memory for evermore.

You will not wonder then that Richard blessed God in his heart for
making a thing so fair, and stood as one in amaze until the ball with
which she was playing fell at his feet.

Needs must then that he return it to her and join in the game, for this
was the custom when one of the players dropped out, as had Beatrice from
weariness.

So he played, but he saw not the ball, only her who sped it, and making
many faults the game was adjudged to her.

[Illustration: Face of Young Girl in the Coronation of

the Virgin

By Fra Filippo Lippi Permission of Alinari]

Then they walked together, others of the company following in twos and
threes at a discreet distance, in that _allee_ which still retains its
ancient name, Les Alyscamps (Champs Elysees--Elysian Fields), where
'neath the taller trees the oleanders shot in long curves bursting in
pink fire, like rockets, above their heads. Here, seated upon one of
those carven tombs which now make benches for lovers in that enchanting
spot, she told him old legends of St. Trophime, how he and his fellows
sculptured about the portal of his abbey descend from their niches and
keep here the eve of Toussaint. "You will see them," she said, "when you
go to hang your shield in the cloister, where it must be displayed, if
so be you fight in this foolish joust. Truly sorry and shamed am I that
so many gallant knights must run the risk of wounds and death for little
me."

"'Tis a small venture for so great a prize," said Richard.

"Then, as you fight, let it b