it against her. What was she to
do? She could not remain in his camp. Virgin modesty forbade that. She
was not safe out of its bounds. Her enemies tracked her steps. It was fit
that she should die by her own hand.

An indignant pity took possession of the French officers. They wondered
how Godfrey could resist the prayers of a creature so beautiful; and
Eustace openly, though respectfully, remonstrated. He said, that if ten
of the best of his captains could not be spared, ten others might;
that it especially became the Christians to redress the wrongs of the
innocent; that the death of a tyrant, instead of being a deviation from
the service of God, was one of the directest means of performing it; and
that France would never endure to hear, that a lady had applied to her
knights for assistance, and found her suit refused.

A murmur of approbation followed the words of Eustace. His companions
pressed nearer to the general, and warmly urged his request.

Godfrey assented to a wish expressed by so many, but not with perfect
goodwill. He bade them remember, that the measure was the result of their
own opinion, not his; and concluded by requesting them at all events, for
his sake, to moderate the excess of their confidence. The transported
warriors had scarcely any answer to make but that of congratulations to
the lady. She, on her side, while mischief was rejoicing in her heart,
first expressed her gratitude to all in words intermixed with smiles and
tears, and then carried herself towards every one in particular in the
manner which she thought most fitted to ensnare. She behaved to this
person with cordiality, to that with comparative reserve; to one with
phrases only, to another with looks besides, and intimations of secret
preference. The ardour of some she repressed, but still in a manner to
rekindle it. To others she was all gaiety and attraction; and when others
again had their eyes upon her, she would fall into fits of absence, and
shed tears, as if in secret, and then look up suddenly and laugh, and put
on a cheerful patience. And thus she drew them all into her net.

Yet none of all these men confessed that passion impelled them; every
body laid his enthusiasm to the account of honour--Eustace particularly,
because he was most in love. He was also very jealous, especially of the
heroical Rinaldo, Prince of Este; and as the squadron of horse to which
they both belonged--the greatest in the army--had lately been de