ars, upon the night when he first came
to her, and the rising saps of spring were exercising their august and
formidable influence. She sat alone, by prearrangement, to one end of
the high-ceiled and radiant apartment; midway in the hall her lords and
divers ladies were gathered about a saltatrice and a jongleur, who
diverted them to the mincing accompaniment of a lute; but Jehane sat
apart from these, frail, and splendid with many jewels, and a little
sad, and, as ever (he thought), was hers a beauty clarified of its mere
substance--the beauty, say, of a moonbeam which penetrates full-grown
leaves.

And Antoine Riczi found no power of speech within him at the first.
Silent he stood before her for an obvious interval, still as an effigy,
while meltingly the jongleur sang.

"Jehane!" said Antoine Riczi, "have you, then, forgotten, O Jehane?"

Nor had the resplendent woman moved at all. It was as though she were
some tinted and lavishly adorned statue of barbaric heathenry, and he
her postulant; and her large eyes appeared to judge an immeasurable
path, beyond him. Now her lips had fluttered somewhat. "The Duchess
of Brittany am I," she said, and in the phantom of a voice. "The
Countess of Rougemont am I. The Lady of Nantes and of Guerrand! of
Rais and of Toufon and Guerche! ... Jehane is dead."

The man had drawn one audible breath. "You are Jehane, whose only
title is the Constant Lover!"

"Friend, the world smirches us," she said half-pleadingly. "I have
tasted too deep of wealth and power. Drunk with a deadly wine am I,
and ever I thirst--I thirst--"

"Jehane, do you remember that May morning in Pampeluna when first I
kissed you, and about us sang many birds? Then as now you wore a gown
of green, Jehane."

"Friend, I have swayed kingdoms since."

"Jehane, do you remember that August twilight in Pampeluna when last I
kissed you? Then as now you wore a gown of green, Jehane."

"But no such chain as this about my neck," the woman answered, and
lifted a huge golden collar garnished with emeralds and sapphires and
with many pearls. "Friend, the chain is heavy, yet I lack the will to
cast it off. I lack the will, Antoine." And with a sudden roar of
mirth her courtiers applauded the evolutions of the saltatrice.

"King's daughter!" said Riczi then; "O perilous merchandise! a god came
to me and a sword had pierced his breast. He touched the gold hilt of
it and said, 'Take back your weapon.' I answe