nt and the delight which
shone upon the face of the knight of hampshire as he looked upon
the strange face of the frenchman. twice he opened his mouth and
twice he peered again, as though to assure himself that his eyes
had not played him a trick.
"bertrand!" he gasped at last. "bertrand du guesclin!"
"by saint ives!" shouted the french soldier, with a hoarse roar
of laughter, "it is well that i should ride with my vizor down,
for he that has once seen my face does not need to be told my
name. it is indeed i, sir nigel, and here is my hand! i give you
my word that there are but three englishmen in this world whom i
would touch save with the sharp edge of the sword: the prince is
one, chandos the second, and you the third; for i have heard much
that is good of you."
"i am growing aged, and am somewhat spent in the wars," quoth sir
nigel; "but i can lay by my sword now with an easy mind, for i
can say that i have crossed swords with him who hath the bravest
heart and the strongest arm of all this great kingdom of france.
i have longed for it, i have dreamed of it, and now i can scarce
bring my mind to understand that this great honor hath indeed
been mine."
"by the virgin of rennes! you have given me cause to be very
certain of it," said du guesclin, with a gleam of his broad white
teeth.
"and perhaps, most honored sir, it would please you to continue
the debate. perhaps you would condescend to go farther into the
matter. god he knows that i am unworthy of such honor, yet i can
show my four-and-sixty quarterings, and i have been present at
some bickerings and scufflings during these twenty years."
"your fame is very well known to me, and i shall ask my lady to
enter your name upon my tablets," said sir bertrand. "there are
many who wish to advance themselves, and who bide their turn, for
i refuse no man who comes on such an errand. at present it may
not be, for mine arm is stiff from this small touch, and i would
fain do you full honor when we cross swords again. come in with
me, and let your squires come also, that my sweet spouse, the
lady tiphaine, may say that she hath seen so famed and gentle a
knight."
into the chamber they went in all peace and concord, where the
lady tiphaine sat like queen on throne for each in turn to be
presented to her. sooth to say, the stout heart of sir nigel,
which cared little for the wrath of her lion-like spouse, was
somewhat shaken by the calm, cold face of this stately dame, for
twenty years of camp-life had left him more at ease in the lists
than in a lady's boudoir. he bethought him, too, as he looked at
her set lips and deep-set questioning eyes, that he had heard
strange tales of this same lady tiphaine du guesclin. was it not
she who was said to lay hands upon the sick and raise them from
their couches when the leeches had spent their last nostrums?
had she not forecast the future, and were there not times when in
the loneliness of her chamber she was heard to hold converse with
some being upon whom mortal eye never rested--some dark familiar
who passed where doors were barred and windows high? sir nigel
sunk his eye and marked a cross on the side of his leg as he
greeted this dangerous dame, and yet ere five minutes had passed
he was hers, and not he only but his two young squires as well.
the mind had gone out of them, and they could but look at this
woman and listen to the words which fell from her lips--words
which thrilled through their nerves and stirred their souls like
the battle-call of a bugle.
often in peaceful after-days was alleyne to think of that scene
of the wayside inn of auvergne. the shadows of evening had
fallen, and the corners of the long, low, wood-panelled room were
draped in darkness. the sputtering wood fire threw out a circle
of red flickering light which played over the little group of
wayfarers, and showed up every line and shadow upon their faces.
sir nigel sat with elbows upon knees, and chin upon hands, his
patch still covering one eye, but his other shining like a star,
while the ruddy light gleamed upon his smooth white head. ford
was seated at his left, his lips parted, his eyes staring, and a
fleck of deep color on either cheek, his limbs all rigid as one
who fears to move. on the other side the famous french captain
leaned back in his chair, a litter of nut-shells upon his lap,
his huge head half buried in a cushion, while his eyes wandered
with an amused gleam from his dame to the staring, enraptured
englishmen. then, last of all, that pale clear-cut face, that
sweet clear voice, with its high thrilling talk of the
deathlessness of glory, of the worthlessness of life, of the pain
of ignoble joys, and of the joy which lies in all pains which
lead to a noble end. still, as the shadows deepened, she spoke
of valor and virtue, of loyalty
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