Another legend of the Maiden’s Leap is more romantic, but less supernatural.  It is a story of the English occupation of Guyenne, and the revolt of the Quercynois in 1368.  Before the main body of the British force that subdued Roc-Amadour as related by Froissart arrived in the Haut-Quercy, the castle of Prangeres, near Gramat, was entered by a troop of armed men in the English service under Jehan Pehautier, one of those brigand captains of whom the mediaeval history and legends of Guyenne speak only too eloquently.  An orphan, Bertheline de Castelnau, chatelaine of Prangeres in her own right, was in the fortress when it was thus taken by surprise.  Captivated by her beauty, Jehan Pehautier essayed to make Bertheline his prisoner; but she made her escape from the castle by night, and endeavoured to reach the sanctuary of Roc-Amadour on foot.  Her flight was discovered, and Pehautier and a party of horsemen started in pursuit.  She would have been quickly captured had she not met a mounted knight, who was no other than her lover, Bertrand de Terride.  She sprang upon his horse, and away they both went through the oak forest which then covered the greater part of the causse; but the gleam of the knight’s armour in the moonlight kept the pursuers constantly upon his track.  Slowly but surely they gained upon the fugitives.  Suddenly Bertheline, who knew the country, perceived that Bertrand was spurring his horse directly towards the precipice now called the Saut de la Pucelle.  It was too late, however, to avoid the gulf; she had only time to murmur a brief prayer before the horse bounded over the edge of the rock.  To the great wonder and joy of the lovers, the animal cleared the ravine, and alighted safely on the other side.  But a very different fate awaited the pursuers.  On they came, crashing through the wood, shouting exultantly, for they believed that the prey was now almost in their grasp, when suddenly the air was rent with cries of horror, mingled with the sound of crashing armour, and bodies falling upon the rocks and upon the bed of the stream.  An awful silence followed.  The dead men and horses were lying in the dark water.  As Pehautier felt the solid earth leave him, he gave out his favourite oath, ‘Mort de sang!’ in a frightful shriek, and the words long afterwards rang in the ears of Bertheline and Bertrand.

As I returned to this spot some months later in order to explore the cavern, I may as well give an account of the adventure here.  I was accompanied by my neighbour Decros, who gave his donkey on this occasion a half-holiday.  Decros, although a native of the locality, could not tell me how far the cavern extended, for he had never been tempted to explore its depths himself, nor had he heard of anybody who knew more than himself about it.  A story, however, was told of a shepherd-boy who long ago went down the opening, and was never seen again.