’"Ah, now, my Lord God,” said he, “I perceive that Thou hast singled me out of all these peers for a work of Thine; which is a thing so glorious for me that, if I glory in it, I am justified, since the work is glorious.  I take it upon me, my Lord, and shall not falter in it nor be slow.  Enough said:  Thou askest not words of me.  Now let me go, that the work may begin.”  After which, very devoutly kneeling, he signed to the Archbishop of Tours, who sat in the sedilia of the sanctuary, to affix the Cross to his shoulder.  Which was done, and afterwards to most of the company then present—­to King Philip, to the Duke of Burgundy, to Henry Count of Champagne, Bertram Count of Roussillon, and Raymond Count of Toulouse; to many bishops; also to James d’Avesnes, William des Barres, and to Eustace Count of Saint-Pol, the brother of Countess Jehane.  But Count John took no Cross, nor did Geoffrey the bastard of Anjou.  Afterwards, I believe, these two worked the French King into a fury because Richard should have taken upon him the chief place in this miraculous adventure.  The Duke of Burgundy was not at all pleased either.  But everybody else knew that it was to King Richard the Holy Rood had pointed; and he knew it himself, and events proved it so.

’But that night after supper he and King Philip kissed each other, and swore brotherhood on their sword-hilts before all the peers.  I am not one to deny generous moments to that politic prince; this I consider to have been one, evoked certainly by the nobility of King Richard.  That appointed champion’s exaltation still burned in him; he was fiercely excited, his eyes were bright with fever of fire.  “Hey, Philip,” he laughed, “now you and I must cross the sea!  And you a bad sailor, Philip!”

’"’Tis so, indeed, Richard,” says King Philip, looking rather foolish.  King Richard clapped him on the shoulder.  “A stout heart, my Philip,” he says, “is betokened by your high stomach.  That shall stand us in a good stead in Palestine.”  Then it was that King Philip kissed him, and him King Richard again.

’He was in great heart that day, full to the neck with hope and adventure.  I would like to see the man or woman to have denied him anything.  At times like these he was (I do not seek to disguise it) a frank lover, Non omnia possumus omnes; if any man think he must have been Galahad the Bloodless Knight because he had been singled out by the questing Rood, he knows little how high ventures foment rich blood.  Lancelot he never was, to love broadcast; but Tristram, rather, lover of one woman.  Hope, pride, knowledge of his force, ran tingling in him; perhaps he saw her fairer than any woman could have been; perhaps he saw her rosy through his sanguine eyes.  He clipped her in his arms in full hall that night in a way that made her rosy enough.  Not that she denied him:  good heaven, who was she to do that?  There as he had her close upon his breast he kissed her a dozen times, and “Jehane, wilt thou fare with me to England?” he asked her fondly, “or must I leave thee peaking here, my Countess of Anjou?”