The ordering of the feast fell to Catherine and her train; and its splendours on successive days had their full development, greatly to the constraint and weariness, among others, of Esclairmonde, who was always assigned to Malcolm Stewart, and throughout these long days had to be constantly repressing him; not that he often durst make her any direct compliment, for he was usually quelled into anxious wistful silence, and merely eyed her earnestly, paying her every attention in his power.  And such a silent tedious meal was sure to be remarked, either with laughing rudeness by Countess Jaqueline, or with severe reproof by the Bishop of Therouenne, both of whom assured her that she had better lay aside her airs, and resign herself in good part, for there was no escape for her.

One day, however, when the feast was at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and there were some slight differences in the order of the guests, the Duke of Bedford put himself forward as the Lady Esclairmonde’s cavalier, so much to her relief, that her countenance, usually so guarded, relaxed into the bright, sweet smile of cheerfulness that was most natural to her.  Isolated as the pairs at the table were, and with music braying in a gallery just above, there was plenty of scope for conversation; and once again Esclairmonde was talking freely of the matters regarding the distress in Paris, that Bedford had consulted her upon before he became so engrossed with his brother’s affairs, or she so beset by her persecutors.

Towards the evening, when the feast had still some mortal hours to last, there fell a silence on the Duke; and at length, when the music was at the loudest, he said ’Lady, I have watched for this moment.  You are persecuted.  Look not on me as one of your persecutors; but if no other refuge be open to you, here is one who might know better how to esteem you than that malapert young Scot.’

‘How, Sir?’ exclaimed Esclairmonde, amazed at these words from the woman-hating Bedford.

‘Make no sudden reply,’ said John.  ’I had never thought of you save as one consecrate, till, when I see you like to be hunted down into the hands of yon silly lad, I cannot but thrust between.  My brother would willingly consent; and, if I may but win your leave to love you, lady, it will be with a heart that has yearned to no other woman.’

He spoke low and steadily, looking straight before him, with no visible emotion, save a little quiver in the last sentence, a slight dilating of the delicately cut nostril; and then he was silent, until, having recovered the self-restraint that had been failing him, he prevented the words she was trying to form by saying, ’Not in haste, lady.  There is time yet before you to bethink yourself whether you can be free in will and conscience.  If so, I will bear you through all.’