"Is this
fair dame your betrothed?"
"She is my love," answered the Frenchman. "We are but waiting for
the Count to be slain in the wars, and then we mean to marry. And
this lady of thine, Nigel? I would that I could see her."
"Perchance you shall, fair sir," said Nigel, "for all that I have
seen of you fills me with desire to go further with you. It is in
my mind that we might turn this thing to profit and to honor, for
when Sir Robert has spoken with you, I am free to do with you as I
will."
"And what will you do, Nigel?"
"We shall surely try some small deed upon each other, so that
either I shall see the Lady Beatrice, or you the Lady Mary. Nay,
thank me not, for like yourself, I have come to this country in
search of honor, and I know not where I may better find it than at
the end of your sword-point. My good lord and master, Sir John
Chandos, has told me many times that never yet did he meet French
knight nor squire that he did not find great pleasure and profit
from their company, and now I very clearly see that he has spoken
the truth."
For an hour these two friends rode together, the Frenchman pouring
forth the praises of his lady, whose glove he produced from one
pocket, her garter from his vest, and her shoe from his
saddle-bag. She was blond, and when he heard that Mary was dark,
he would fain stop then and there to fight the question of color.
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