Jeanne pushed him away.
“Geoffrey, loose me! Here comes thy lord! Oh, rise, thou great stupid!”
Along the terrace Simon was coming, capless, and Jeanne glanced from his face to Geoffrey’s.
“In truth ye are much alike,” she said. “But the one is ‘beau’ and the other is ‘mal.’ ”
“We are half-brothers,” Geoffrey told her. He turned to greet Simon. “Hast need of me, lad?”
Simon bowed awkwardly to Mademoiselle.
“Nay. I thought Alan was here. I ask your pardon for my intrusion.”
In the depths of his strange eyes Jeanne saw a twinkle. She blushed, sewing quicker than ever.
“I have seen not Alan. What’s amiss?”
“He bears the title, Master of the Horse,” Simon said with heavy sarcasm. “I would have him attend to his affairs.”
Jeanne spoke demurely.
“Methinks Sir Alan is in the western hall, milor’.”
Geoffrey chuckled, for the Lady Margaret’s ladies often sat there.
“Who is the charmer, my Jeanne?” he asked.
A frown reproved him.
“I believe it is Mademoiselle Yvonne de Vertimaine,” Jeanne answered.
“Wilt fetch him for me, Geoffrey?” Simon said. “Ye will find me here.”
Geoffrey smiled.
“Simon, do ye fear to enter the ladies’ bower?”
“I would not rob you of that sweet delight,” Simon answered. “Go, Geoffrey. I will bear Mademoiselle company.”
“Thank you!” Geoffrey bowed ironically, and sauntered away down the terrace.
Jeanne found her heart beating rather fast. She had been present when Simon had captured her mistress, and she had accompanied Margaret to the English camp. Both of these experiences left her very nervous of Simon. Now he sat down upon the parapet, looking at her.
“So ye have captured my captain’s heart, mademoiselle,” he said slowly.
Jeanne looked at him. He was smiling down at her pleasantly, and she plucked up her courage.
“No, sir. He gave it to me.”
“It is all one. I take it you and he will walk to the altar soon?”
Jeanne shook her head.
“It cannot be, milor’.”
“Ah?”
“I serve the Countess.”
“I see,” said Simon. “Yet when I have quelled this turbulent lady, what then?”
“Ye will not do it, milor’,” she said confidently.
“Shall I not? I might ask thine aid.”
She paused in her stitching, and looked him steadily between the eyes.
“Ye would be ill-advised, sir.”
“Oh?” He raised his brows. “Like mistress like maid, is it?”
“Ay, sir.”
“Not all Malvallet’s pleadings will make thee change thy mind?”
“Sir Geoffrey, milor’, would be the last to have me turn traitor.”
“I but ask thy persuasion, lady.”
“You ask in vain, sir.”
“So? Then let me tell thee, mademoiselle, that if the Lady Margaret cannot be persuaded, she may yet be coerced.”
“Oh, brave!” Jeanne exclaimed scornfully.
“It is in my power,” Simon said imperturbably, “to execute the Countess. Hast thou thought of that, I wonder?”
“Ye would have all Belrémy about your ears, like hornets,” she answered.
“It would not worry me. If I have not the Lady Margaret’s submission soon, I shall be forced to take stronger measures. Let her take heed, for I mean what I say.”
“I doubt it not.” Jeanne eyed him for a moment. “Yet would ye not slay the Countess, for ye are English, and I have heard that their justice is great.”
“As ye shall see,” Simon answered grimly.
“And—and do ye war on women?” Jeanne asked.
“Ay, if need be.”
“It is very sad,” she sighed.
VIII
How the Lady Margaret Plotted
The Lady Margaret sat with some of her ladies in her audience-chamber. A dark-eyed page was at her feet, playing on a small harp, and Jeanne sat beside her. Margaret lay back at her ease, a splendid figure against the fur-skin that covered her chair. At the far end of the room some gentlemen stood, conversing together; the Chevalier leaned over the back of his cousin’s chair, whispering occasionally in her ear. She paid little heed to his sallies, but now and then jerked her shoulder impatiently, and frowned.
“Art cold today, sweet cousin,” the Chevalier whispered.
“I have not changed, Victor,” she answered curtly. “You weary me.”
“But one day, fairest, you will change? Shall I never find the way to thy heart?”
“At a distance I might like you better,” she said.
“Cruel, cruel! Ah, Margot, if ye would but smile upon me, what might not we do to oust this English boor?”
Her lip curled.
“I need no help from you, Victor.”
His voice sank lower.
“No, ma belle? Yet thou didst not slay him when I gave thee the chance.”
She flushed, tapping her foot on the floor.
“I told you that I would not.”
“And thou didst not essay it?” he purred. “How then came my dagger upon the floor in the great hall?”
“Oh, go, go!” she said quickly. “I would not kill him, because—because—I will—find a surer way.”
He drew himself upright, still smiling.
“Is it indeed so, Margot? Now I had thought. … Ah, well!” Sighing, he strolled out, and the Countess gave a little shiver.
Slowly the colour died from her cheeks. She turned to her page, laying a caressing hand on his shoulder.
“Thy song is joyous today, Léon.”
He looked up at her, eyes a-sparkle.
“Yes, madame. I am gay because the English lord hath granted me a pass out of the castle. I go to see my father, without the town.”
The long fingers on his shoulder gripped suddenly. Surprised, he looked up again, into the beautiful face bent over him, and saw it pale, lips slightly parted, and eyes shining.
“Is—no pass needed to leave the town?” Margaret asked softly.
“Nay, madame, for the town hath submitted.”
He heard the quick intake of her breath, and wondered.
“Léon, when wilt thou go?”
“Tomorrow, madame, if it please you.”
“And—and where is thy—pass?”
He patted his tunic.
“Safe here, madame. My lord signed it today.”
“Léon—” Margaret spoke in a whisper—“Thou dost love me, is it not so?”
“But yes, madame! I would die—”
“Then come to my room presently—with—with thy pass. And say naught, Léon! Say naught!”
“Yes, madame,” he answered obediently, but his eyes searched her face in mystification.
She leaned back, and in a moment had called one of the courtiers to her side, laughing gaily, and chattering with him, so that
