“I know yon look—­aha! ’tis the goldsmith’s fair young wife.  There have been lovers who loved love ere now—­Pan, see you, and Jove himself they say:  but Pan was coy, and Jove—­”

“Hist, he beckons us!”

So came these young esquires beside Sir Gui who, tapping the dust from his habit with soft white hand, spake soft-voiced and sweet.

“Ride on, sirs, and bid our careful warden stay awhile the execution of this traitorous friar.  Let the square be lined with pikes as is our custom:  let the prisoner be chained unto his stake see you, but let all things stay until I be come.  There will be many folk in Belsaye, meseemeth, well—­let them wait, and stare, and whisper, and—­wait, till I be come!”

Forward spurred the young esquires to do as was commanded, joyful to see the confusion that marked their swift career and making good play of their whips on the heads and shoulders of such as chanced to be within reach; in especial upon a mighty fellow in floured smock that bare a sack on his shoulder and who, stung with the blow, cried a curse on them in voice so harsh and bold that folk shrank from his neighbourhood, yet marvelled at his daring.  Being come anon within the city Sir Gui dismounted beside the gate, and giving horse and falcon to an esquire, beckoned to him a grizzled man-at-arms; now as he did so, a tall miller passed him by, and stumbling wearily, set down his sack against the wall and panted.

“Bare you the letter as I commanded, Rolf?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“What said she?”

“Wept, my lord.”

“Spake she nought?”

“Nought, my lord.”

“Lieth the goldsmith deep?”

“Above the water-dungeons, my lord.”

“And she wept, say you?  Methinks the goldsmith shall go free to-morrow!”

So saying, Sir Gui went on into the city, and as he went, his smile was back again, and his tongue curved red betwixt his lips.  And presently the tall miller hoisted his burden and went on into the city also; turned aside down a narrow passage betwixt gloomy houses, and so at last out into the square that hummed with a clamour hushed and expectant.  But my lord Seneschal, unheeding ever, came unto a certain quiet corner of the square remote and shady, being far removed from the stir and bustle of the place; here he paused at an open doorway and turned to look back into the square, ruddy with sunset—­a careless glance that saw the blue of sky, the heavy-timbered houses bathed in the warm sunset glow, the which, falling athwart the square, shone red upon the smock of a miller, who stooping ’neath his burden, stumbled across the uneven cobble-stones hard by.  All this saw Sir Gui in that one backward glance; then, unheeding as ever, went in at the doorway and up the dark and narrow stair.  But now it chanced that the miller, coming also to this door, stood a while sack on shoulder, peering up into the gloom within; thereafter, having