"Are you in a maid's mood, or a mood for a maid?"
Noel stopped impatiently.
"Are you pander as well as pilgrim? I wait for a woman."
The pilgrim's pertinacity was not to be baffled.
"Is she tall or short, young or old, dark or fair, sweet or sour?"
Noel answered whimsically:
"She is of the colour of the chameleon, of the age of the ancient world, of the height of any man's heart, and as bitter-sweet as a crushed quince."
The girl pulled off her mask and threw back her hood.
"Is she of my feet, favour, years and savour?"
The moment he saw her face Noel gave a cry of delight.
"You are welcome, witch," he shouted, "for you. bring the best love in the world!"
He sprang to catch the girl in his arms, but she repulsed him gently.
"Hush! I am no love-monger now, no gallantry girl, but a most politic plotter. The world spins like a potter's wheel to shape the vessel of our enterprise. We have a wizard ready for your king. Will Louis come?"
