Strangely enough, the first thought which came to the Earl Douglas after his surprise was one in which triumph was blended with mirth.

“What will the Abbot and Malise think of this?” he said, half aloud.  And he turned him about in order to look upon the face of his master armourer.

He found Malise MacKim ashen-pale and drawn of countenance, his mouth open and squared with wonder.  His jaw was fallen slack, and his hands gripped one upon the other like those of a suppliant praying to the saints.

The Earl smiled, and bidding Malise unlace his helmet in compliment to his guests, he stood presently bareheaded before them, his head appearing above the blackness of his armour, bright as a flower with youth and instinct with all the fiery beauty of his race.

It was James the Gross who came forward to act as herald.  “My well-beloved nephew,” he began in somewhat whining tones, “I bring you two royal embassies, one from the King of France and the other from the King of Scotland.  I have the honour to present to you the Marshal Gilles de Retz, ambassador of the most Christian King, Charles the Seventh, who will presently deliver his master’s message to you.”

The marshal, who till now had kept his visor down, slowly raised it, and revealed a face which, being once seen, could never afterwards be banished from the memory.

It was a large grey-white countenance, with high cheek-bones and colourless lips, which were continually working one upon the other.  Black eyes were set close together under heavy brows, and a long thin nose curved between them like the beak of an unclean bird.

“Earl William,” said the marshal, “I give you greeting in the name of our common liege lord, Charles, King of France, and also in that of his son, the Dauphin Louis.  I bring you also a further token of their good-will, in that I hail you heir to the great estates and dignities of your father and grandfather, sometime Dukes of Touraine and vassals premier of the King of France.”

The young man bowed, but in spite of the interest of his message, the marshal caught his eyes resting upon the face of the lady who rode beside him.

“To this I add that which, save for the message of the King, my master, ought fitly to have come first.  I present you to this fair lady, my sister-in-law, the Damosel Sybilla de Thouars, maid of honour to your high princess Margaret of Scotland, who of late hath expanded into a yet fairer flower under the sun of our land of France.”

The Earl dismounted and threw the reins of his horse to Malise, whose face wore an expression of bitterest disappointment and instinctive hatred.  Then he went to the side of the Lady Sybilla, and taking her hand he bowed his head over it, touching the glove to his lips with every token of respect.  Still bareheaded, he took the reins of her palfrey and led her to the stand reserved for the Queen of Beauty.