Part 5 (1/2)
”Oy Dieus! will you flee to England, then?” the vicomte scoffed, bitterly. ”Has King Edward not sworn to hang you these eight years past?
Was it not you, then, cousin, who took Almerigo di Pavia, that Lombard knave whom he made governor of Calais,--was it not you, then, who delivered Edward's loved Almerigo to Geoffrey de Chargny, who had him broken on the wheel? Eh, holy Maclou! but you will get hearty welcome and a chaplain and a rope in England.”
Adhelmar admitted that this was true. ”Still,” said he, ”I must ride hence to-night.”
”For her?” Reinault asked, and jerked his thumb upward.
”Yes,” said Adhelmar,--”for her.”
Reinault stared in his face for a while. ”You are a fool, Adhelmar,” said he, at last, ”but you are a brave man, and you love as becomes a chevalier. It is a great pity that a flibbertigibbet wench with a tow-head should be the death of you. For my part, I am the King's va.s.sal; I shall not break faith with him; but you are my guest and my kinsman.
For that reason I am going to bed, and I shall sleep very soundly. It is likely I shall hear nothing of the night's doings,--ohime, no! not if you murder d'Andreghen in the court-yard!” Reinault ended, and smiled, somewhat sadly.
Afterward he took Adhelmar's hand and said: ”Farewell, lord Adhelmar! O true knight, st.u.r.dy and bold! terrible and merciless toward your enemies, gentle and simple toward your friends, farewell!”
He kissed Adhelmar on either cheek and left him. In those days men encountered death with very little ado.
Then Adhelmar rode off in the rain with thirty-four armed followers.
Riding thus, he reflected upon the nature of women and upon his love for the Demoiselle de Puysange; and, to himself, he swore gloomily that if she had a mind to Hugues she must have Hugues, come what might.
Having reached this conclusion, Adhelmar wheeled upon his men, and cursed them for tavern-idlers and laggards and flea-hearted snails, and bade them spur.
Melite, at her window, heard them depart, and heard the noise of their going lapse into the bland monotony of the rain's noise. This dank night now divulged no more, and she turned back into the room. Adhelmar's glove, which he had forgotten in his haste, lay upon the floor, and Melite lifted it and twisted it idly.
”I wonder--?” said she.
She lighted four wax candles and set them before a mirror that was in the room. Melite stood among them and looked into the mirror. She seemed very tall and very slender, and her loosened hair hung heavily about her beautiful shallow face and fell like a cloak around her black-robed body, showing against the black gown like melting gold; and about her were the tall, white candles tipped with still flames of gold. Melite laughed--her laughter was high and delicate, with the resonance of thin gla.s.s,--and raised her arms above her, head, stretching tensely like a cat before a fire, and laughed yet again.
”After all,” said she, ”I do not wonder.”
Melite sat before the mirror, and braided her hair, and sang to herself in a sweet, low voice, brooding with unfathomable eyes upon her image in the gla.s.s, while the October rain beat about Puysange, and Adhelmar rode forth to save Hugues that must else be hanged.
Sang Melite:
”_Rustling leaves of the willow-tree Peering downward at you and me, And no man else in the world to see,
”Only the birds, whose dusty coats Show dark in the green,--whose throbbing throats Turn joy to music and love to notes_.
”Lean your body against the tree, Lifting your red lips up to me, Melite, and kiss, with no man to see!
”And let us laugh for a little:--Yea, Let love and laughter herald the day When laughter and love will be put away.
”Then you will remember the willow-tree And this very hour, and remember me, Melite,--whose face you will no more see!
”So swift, so swift the glad time goes, And Eld and Death with their countless woes Draw near, and the end thereof no man knows,
”Lean your body against the tree, Lifting your red lips up to me, Melite, and kiss, with no man to see!”_
Melite smiled as she sang; for this was a song that Adhelmar had made for her upon a May morning at Nointel, before he was a knight, when both were very young. So now she smiled to remember the making of the verses which she sang while the October rain was beating about Puysange.
5. _Night-work_