ch of
these ragged peasants was too glad for laughter.

THE END OF THE EIGHTH NOVEL

IX

THE STORY OF THE NAVARRESE

"J'ay en mon cueur joyeusement
Escript, afin que ne l'oublie,
Ce refrain qu'ayme chierement,
C'estes vous de qui suis amye."

THE NINTH NOVEL.--JEHANE OF NAVARRE, AFTER A WITHSTANDING OF ALL OTHER
ASSAULTS, IS IN A LONG DUEL, WHEREIN TIME AND COMMON-SENSE ARE
FLOUTED, AND KINGDOMS ARE SHAKEN, DETHRONED AND RECOMPENSED BY AN
ENDURING LUNACY.

_The Story of the Navarrese_

In the year of grace 1386, upon the feast of Saint Bartholomew (thus
Nicolas begins), came to the Spanish coast Messire Peyre de Lesnerac,
in a war-ship sumptuously furnished and manned by many persons of
dignity and wealth, in order suitably to escort the Princess Jehane
into Brittany, where she was to marry the Duke of that province. There
were now rejoicings throughout Navarre, in which the Princess took but
a nominal part and young Antoine Riczi none at all.

This Antoine Riczi came to Jehane that August twilight in the hedged
garden. "King's daughter!" he sadly greeted her. "Duchess of Brittany!
Countess of Rougemont! Lady of Nantes and of Guerrand! of Rais and of
Toufon and Guerche!"

She answered, "No, my dearest,--I am that Jehane, whose only title is
the Constant Lover." And in the green twilight, lit as yet by one
low-hanging star alone, their lips and desperate young bodies clung,
now, it might be, for the last time.

Presently the girl spoke. Her soft mouth was lax and tremulous, and
her gray eyes were more brilliant than the star yonder. The boy's arms
were about her, so that neither could be quite unhappy, yet.

"Friend," said Jehane, "I have no choice. I must wed with this de
Montfort. I think I shall die presently. I have prayed God that I may
die before they bring me to the dotard's bed."

Young Riczi held her now in an embrace more brutal. "Mine! mine!" he
snarled toward the obscuring heavens.

"Yet it may be I must live. Friend, the man is very old. Is it wicked
to think of that? For I cannot but think of his great age."

Then Riczi answered: "My desires--may God forgive me!--have clutched
like starving persons at that sorry sustenance. Friend! ah, fair,
sweet friend! the man is human and must die, but love, we read, is
immortal. I am wishful to kill myself, Jehane. But, oh, Jehane! dare
you to bid me live?"

"Friend, as you love me, I entreat you to live. Friend, I crave of