"I am candid, my
Prince. I would not see any brave gentleman slain in a cause so
foolish. And in consequence I kiss and tell. In effect, I was
eloquent, I was magnificent--so that in the end her reserve was
shattered like the wooden flask yonder at our feet. Is it worth while,
think you, that our blood flow like this flagon's contents?"

"Liar!" Prince Edward said, very softly. "O hideous liar! Already
your eyes shift!" He drew near and struck the Frenchman. "Talk and
talk and talk! and lying talk! I am ashamed while I share the world
with a thing so base as you."

De Gatinais hurled upon him, cursing, sobbing in an abandoned fury. In
an instant the place resounded like a smithy, for there were no better
swordsmen living than these two. The eavesdropper could see nothing
clearly. Round and round they veered in a whirl of turmoil. Presently
Prince Edward trod upon the broken flask, smashing it. His foot
slipped in the spilth of wine, and the huge body went down like an oak,
the head of it striking one leg of the table.

[Illustration: "IN AN INSTANT THE PLACE RESOUNDED LIKE A SMITHY"
_Painting by William Hurd Lawrence_]

"A candle!" de Gatinais cried, and he panted now--"a hundred candles to
the Virgin of Beaujolais!" He shortened his sword to stab the Prince
of England.

And now the eavesdropper understood. She flung open the door and fell
upon Prince Edward, embracing him. The sword dug deep into her
shoulder, so that she shrieked once with the cold pain of this wound.
Then she rose, all ashen.

"Liar!" she said. "Oh, I am shamed while I share the world with a
thing so base as you!"

In silence de Gatinais regarded her. There was a long interval before
he said, "Ellinor!" and then again, "Ellinor!" like a man bewildered.

"_I was eloquent, I was magnificent,_" she said, "_so that in the end
her reserve was shattered!_ Certainly, messire, it is not your death
which I desire, since a man dies so very, very quickly. I desire for
you--I know not what I desire for you!" the girl wailed.

"You desire that I should endure this present moment," de Gatinais
said; "for as God reigns, I love you, and now am I shamed past death."

She said: "And I, too, loved you. It is strange to think of that."

"I was afraid. Never in my life have I been afraid before. But I was
afraid of this terrible and fair and righteous man. I saw all hope of
you vanish, all hope of Sicily--in effect, I lied as a cor