umbling in his pouch. Straightway, being free, I cast myself on the
floor to pick up the linen, and hide my face, which so burned that it
must have seemed as red as the most modest maid might have deemed seemly.

"Leave the wench alone; she is new come, I warrant, and has no liking for
your wantonness," said a kind voice; and, glancing up, I saw that he who
spoke was one of the gentlemen who had ridden with the Maiden from
Vaucouleurs. Bertrand de Poulengy was his name; belike he was waiting
while the King and the nobles devised with the Maiden privately in the
great hall.

He stooped and helped me to pick up my linen, as courteously as if I had
been a princess of the blood; and, because he was a gentleman, I suppose,
and a stranger, the archers did not meddle with him, save to break
certain soldiers' jests, making me glad that I was other than I appeared.

"Come," he said, "my lass, I will be your escort; it seems that Fortune
has chosen me for a champion of dames."

With these words he led the way forth, and through a long passage lit
from above, which came out into the court at the stairs of the great
hall.

Down these stairs the Maiden herself was going, her face held high and a
glad look in her eyes, her conference with the King being ended. Poulengy
joined her; they said some words which I did not hear, for I deemed that
it became me to walk forward after thanking him by a look, and bending my
head, for I dared not trust my foreign tongue.

Before I reached the gateway they had joined me, which I was glad of,
fearing more insolence from the soldiers. But these men held their
peace, looking grave, and even affrighted, being of them who had heard
the prophecy of the Maiden and seen its fulfilment.

"Have ye found the body of that man?" said Poulengy to a
sergeant-at-arms.

"Nay, sir, we deem that his armour weighed him down, for he never rose
once, though that Scot's head was seen thrice and no more. Belike they
are good, peaceful friends at the bottom of the fosse together."

"Of what man speak you?" asked the Maiden of Poulengy.

"Of him that blasphemed as we went by an hour ago. Wrestling with a Scot
on some quarrel, they broke the palisade, and--lo! there are joiners
already mending it. 'Tis old and frail. The gentle Dauphin is over poor
to keep the furnishings of his castle as a king should do."

The Maiden grew wan as sun-dried grass in summer when she heard this
story told. Crossing herse