her eyes—her lips, she struggling like a frightened nestling all the while. It was done.
Ashamed but impenitent—it was too new, too sweet to wish undone—I loosed her gently, and kissed her hand but once again, then left her standing where the light from the mullioned window in halos wreathed my saint. It was thus I ever afterward remembered her.
She made no other sign; I withdrew swiftly as I came. From across the wall, unobserved, I watched her leave the place, downcast of eye and slow of step. In rebellious and uncertain mood I rode away.
Though the relish in my task was done, I made all haste toward Dieppe. Scarcely stopping for food, changing horses as often as I could, I pushed on without adventure until I reached the Chateau Cartillon, then a formless ruin.
Here my saddle girth broke and I was nearly thrown to the ground. I scrambled off, walked to the little inn where I inquired how far I had yet to go.
"Three leagues yet to Dieppe," the host replied, "but Monsieur can not go on to-night; he must wait the morrow; he can go with comfort in the morning."
I sent my groom for a new girth and found it would take quite an hour to procure one from the village.
"Probably Monsieur would visit the castle upon the hill there," persisted the landlord, pointing across the way, "it is worth his while. It is said to have been destroyed by the Great Henry in his wars with the Duke of Mayenne. True it is that sounds of battle and s