er its
broad bosom. On the other side lay a strip of vineyard, and beyond it
the desolate and sandy region of the Landes, all tangled with faded
gorse and heath and broom, stretching away in unbroken gloom to the blue
hills which lay low upon the furthest sky-line. Behind them might still
be seen the broad estuary of the Gironde, with the high towers of
Saint Andre and Saint Remi shooting up from the plain. In front, amid
radiating lines of poplars, lay the riverside townlet of Cardillac--gray
walls, white houses, and a feather of blue smoke.

"This is the 'Mouton d'Or,'" said Aylward, as they pulled up their
horses at a whitewashed straggling hostel. "What ho there!" he
continued, beating upon the door with the hilt of his sword. "Tapster,
ostler, varlet, hark hither, and a wannion on your lazy limbs! Ha!
Michel, as red in the nose as ever! Three jacks of the wine of the
country, Michel--for the air bites shrewdly. I pray you, Alleyne, to
take note of this door, for I have a tale concerning it."

"Tell me, friend," said Alleyne to the portly red-faced inn-keeper, "has
a knight and a squire passed this way within the hour?"

"Nay, sir, it would be two hours back. Was he a small man, weak in the
eyes, with a want of hair, and speaks very quiet when he is most to be
feared?"

"The same," the squire answered. "But I marvel how you should know how
he speaks when he is in wrath, for he is very gentle-minded with those
who are beneath him."

"Praise to the saints! it was not I who angered him," said the fat
Michel.

"Who, then?"

"It was young Sieur de Crespigny of Saintonge, who chanced to be here,
and made game of the Englishman, seeing that he was but a small man and
hath a face which is full of peace. But indeed this good knight was a
very quiet and patient man, for he saw that the Sieur de Crespigny
was still young and spoke from an empty head, so he sat his horse
and quaffed his wine, even as you are doing now, all heedless of the
clacking tongue."

"And what then, Michel?"

"Well, messieurs, it chanced that the Sieur de Crespigny, having said
this and that, for the laughter of the varlets, cried out at last about
the glove that the knight wore in his coif, asking if it was the custom
in England for a man to wear a great archer's glove in his cap. Pardieu!
I have never seen a man get off his horse as quick as did that stranger
Englishman. Ere the words were past the other's lips he was beside him,
his face