tue, beau soldat?"

"Oui, ma mie," said Denys, as gruffly as ever he could, rightly deeming
this would smack of supernatural puissance to owners of bell-like
trebles. "C'est moi. Ca vaut une petite embrassade--pas?"

"Je crois ben. Aie! aie!"

"Qu'as-tu?"

"Ca pique! ca pique!"

"Quel dommage! je vais la couper."

"Nein, ce n'est rien; et pisque t'as tue ce mechant. T'es fierement
beau, tout d' meme, toi; t'es lien miex que ma grande soeur.

"Will you not kiss me, too, ma mie?" said Gerard.

"Je ne demande par miex. Tiens, tiens, tiens! c'est doulce celle-ci. Ah!
que j'aimons les hommes! Des fames, ca ne m'aurait jamais donne l'arjan,
blanc, plutot ca m'aurait ri au nez. C'est si peu de chose, les fames.
Serviteur, beaulx sires! Bon voiage; et n'oubliez point la Jeanneton!"

"Adieu, petit coeur," said Gerard, and on they marched; but presently
looking back they saw the contemner of women in the middle of the road,
making them a reverence, and blowing them kisses with little May morning
face.

"Come on," cried Gerard lustily. "I shall win to Rome yet. Holy St.
Bavon, what a sunbeam of innocence hath shot across our bloodthirsty
road! Forget thee, little Jeanneton? not likely, amidst all this
slobbering, and gibbeting, and decanting. Come on, thou laggard!
forward!"

"Dost call this marching?" remonstrated Denys; "why, we shall walk o'er
Christmas Day and never see it."

At the next town they came to, suddenly an arbalestrier ran out of a
tavern after them, and in a moment his beard and Denys's were like two
brushes stuck together. It was a comrade. He insisted on their coming
into the tavern with him, and breaking a bottle of wine. In course of
conversation, he told Denys there was an insurrection in the Duke's
Flemish provinces, and soldiers were ordered thither from all parts of
Burgundy. "Indeed, I marvelled to see thy face turned this way.

"I go to embrace my folk that I have not seen these three years. Ye can
quell a bit of a rising without me I trow."

Suddenly Denys gave a start. "Dost hear Gerard? this comrade is bound
for Holland."

"What then? ah, a letter! a letter to Margaret! but will he be so good,
so kind?"

The soldier with a torrent of blasphemy informed him he would not only
take it, but go a league or two out of his way to do it.

In an instant out came inkhorn and paper from Gerard's wallet; and he
wrote a long letter to Margaret, and told her briefly what I fear I have
spun to