Part 11 (2/2)

And hers was the ageless thought of women. ”This man is rather foolish and peculiarly dear to me. What shall I do with him? and how much must I humor him in his foolishness?”

D'Arnaye stayed motionless: but still his eyes strained after Olivier.

Well, she would humor him. There was no alternative save that of perhaps never seeing Fulke again.

Adelais laid her hand upon his arm. ”You love me. G.o.d knows, I am not worthy of it, but you love me. Ever since I was a child you have loved me,--always, always it was you who indulged me, s.h.i.+elded me, protected me with this fond constancy that I have not merited. Very well,”--she paused, for a single heartbeat,--”go! and take me with you.”

The hand he raised shook as though palsied. ”O most beautiful!” the Frenchman cried, in an extreme of adoration; ”you would do that! You would do that in pity to save me--unworthy me! And it is I whom you call brave--me, who annoy you with my woes so petty!” Fulke d'Arnaye slipped from his horse, and presently stood beside the gray mare, holding a small, slim hand in his. ”I thank you,” he said, simply. ”You know that it is impossible. But yes, I have loved you these long years. And now--Ah, my heart shakes, my words tumble, I cannot speak! You know that I may not--may not let you do this thing. Why, but even if, of your prodigal graciousness, mademoiselle, you were so foolish as to waste a little liking upon my so many demerits--” He gave a hopeless gesture.

”Why, there is always our brave marquis to be considered, who will so soon make you a powerful, rich lady. And I?--I have nothing.”

But Adelais had rested either hand upon a stalwart shoulder, bending down to him till her hair brushed his. Yes, this man was peculiarly dear to her: she could not bear to have him murdered when in equity he deserved only to have his jaws boxed for his toplofty nonsense about her; and, after all, she did not much mind humoring him in his foolishness.

”Do you not understand?” she whispered. ”Ah, my paladin, do you think I speak in pity? I wished to be a great lady,--yes. Yet always, I think, I loved you, Fulke, but until to-night I had believed that love was only the man's folly, the woman's diversion. See, here is Falmouth's ring.”

She drew it from her finger, and flung it awkwardly, as every woman throws. Through the moonlight it fell glistening. ”Yes, I hungered for Falmouth's power, but you have shown me that which is above any temporal power. Ever I must crave the highest, Fulke--Ah, fair sweet friend, do not deny me!” Adelais cried, piteously. ”Take me with you, Fulke! I will ride with you to the wars, my lord, as your page; I will be your wife, your slave, your scullion. I will do anything save leave you. Lord, it is not the maid's part to plead thus!”

Fulke d'Arnaye drew her warm, yielding body toward him and stood in silence. Then he raised his eyes to heaven. ”Dear Lord G.o.d,” he cried, in a great voice, ”I entreat of Thee that if through my fault this woman ever know regret or sorrow I be cast into the nethermost pit of h.e.l.l for all eternity!” Afterward he kissed her.

And presently Adelais lifted her head, with a mocking little laugh.

”Sorrow!” she echoed. ”I think there is no sorrow in all the world.

Mount, my lord, mount! See where brother Olivier waits for us yonder.”

JUNE 5, 1455--AUGUST 4, 1462

_”Fortune fuz par clercs jadis nominee, Qui toi, Francois, crie et nomme meurtriere.”_

_So it came about that Adelais went into France with the great-grandson of Tiburce d'Arnaye: and Fulke, they say, made her a very fair husband.

But he had not, of course, much time for love-making.

For in France there was sterner work awaiting Fulke d'Arnaye, and he set about it: through seven dreary years he and Rougemont and Dunois managed, somehow, to bolster up the cause of the fat-witted King of Bourges (as the English then called him), who afterward became King Charles VII of France. But in the February of 1429--four days before the Maid of Domremy set forth from her voice-haunted Bois Chenu to bring about a certain coronation in Rheims Church and in Rouen Square a flamy martyrdom--four days before the coming of the good Lorrainer, Fulke d'Arnaye was slain at Rouvray-en-Beausse in that encounter between the French and the English which history has commemorated as the Battle of the Herrings.

Adelais was wooed by, and betrothed to, the powerful old Comte de Vaudremont; but died just before the date set for this second marriage, in October, 1429. She left two sons: Noel, born in 1425, and Raymond, born in 1426; who were reared by their uncle, Olivier d'Arnaye. It was said of them that Noel was the handsomest man of his times, and Raymond the most shrewd; concerning that you will judge hereafter. Both of these d'Arnayes, on reaching manhood, were identified with the Dauphin's party in the unending squabbles between Charles VII and the future Louis XI.

Now you may learn how Noel d'Arnaye came to be immortalized by a legacy of two hundred and twenty blows from an osierwhip--since (as the testator piously affirms), ”chastoy est une belle aulmosne.”_

CHAPTER V

_The Episode Called In Necessity's Mortar_

1. ”Bon Bec de Paris”

There went about the Rue Saint Jacques a notable shaking of heads on the day that Catherine de Vaucelles was betrothed to Francois de Montcorbier.

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