She hid her face.  ‘Homage of the knights!  The love of me!’ he cried; and then, ’Ah, Jehane of the Fair Girdle, when I took you from the pastures of Gisors, when I taught you love and learned from your young mouth what love might be, I was made man.  But now you ask me to become dog.’  And he swore yet again he could never leave her.  But she smiled proudly, being in pain.  ’Nay, my lord, but the man in you is awake, and not to leave you.  You shall go because you are the king’s son, and I shall pray for the new king.’  So she beat him, and had him weeping terribly, his face in her lap.  She wept no more, but dry-eyed kissed him, and dry-lipped went to bed.  ‘He said Yea that time,’ records the Abbot Milo, ’but I never knew then what she paid for it.  That was later.’  He went next morning, and she saw him go.

CHAPTER II

HOW THE FAIR JEHANE BESTOWED HERSELF

Betimes is best for an ugly business; your man of spirit will always rush what he loathes but yet must do.  Count Richard of Poictou, having made up his mind and confessed himself overnight, must leave with the first cock of the morning, yet must take the sacrament.  Before it was grey in the east he did so, fully armed in mail, with his red surcoat of leopards upon him, his sword girt, his spurs strapped on.  Outside the chapel in the weeping mirk a squire held his shield, another his helm, a groom walked his horse.  Milo the Abbot was celebrant, a snuffling boy served; the Count knelt before the housel-cloth haloed by the light of two thin candles.  Hardly had the priest begun his introibo when Jehane Saint-Pol, who had been awake all night, stole in with a hood on her head, and holding herself very stiffly, knelt on the floor.  She joined her hands and stuck them up before her, so that the tips of her fingers, pointing upwards as her thoughts would fly, were nearly level with her chin.  Thus frozen in prayer she remained throughout the office; nor did she relax when at the elevation of the Host Richard bowed himself to the earth.  It seemed as if she too, bearing between her hands her own heart, was lifting it up for sacrifice and for worship.

The Count was communicated.  He was a very religious man, who would sooner have gone without his sword than his Saviour upon any affairs.  Jehane saw him fed without a twitch of the lips.  She was in a great mood, a rapt and pillared saint; but when mass was over and his thanksgiving to make, she got up and hid herself away from him in the shades.  There she lurked darkling, and he, lunging out, swept with his sword’s point the very edge of her gown.  She did not hear him go, for he trod like a cat; but she felt him touch her with the sword, and shuddered once or twice.  He went out of the courtyard at a gallop.

While the abbot was reciting his own thanksgiving Jehane came out of her corner, minded to speak with him.  So much he divined, needing not the beckoning look she sent him from her guarded eyes.  He sat himself down by the altar of Saint Remy, and she knelt beside him.