other side lay a

strip of vineyard, and beyond it the desolate and sandy region of

the landes, all tangled with faded gorse and heath and broom,

stretching away in unbroken gloom to the blue hills which lay low

upon the furthest sky-line. behind them might still be seen the

broad estuary of the gironde, with the high towers of saint andre

and saint remi shooting up from the plain. in front, amid

radiating lines of poplars, lay the riverside townlet of

cardillac--gray walls, white houses, and a feather of blue smoke.

"this is the 'mouton d'or,' " said aylward, as they pulled up

their horses at a whitewashed straggling hostel. "what ho

there!" he continued, beating upon the door with the hilt of his

sword. "tapster, ostler, varlet, hark hither, and a wannion on

your lazy limbs! ha! michel, as red in the nose as ever! three

jacks of the wine of the country, michel--for the air bites

shrewdly. i pray you, alleyne, to take note of this door, for i

have a tale concerning it."

"tell me, friend," said alleyne to the portly red-faced inn-

keeper, "has a knight and a squire passed this way within the

hour?"

"nay, sir, it would be two hours back. was he a small man, weak

in the eyes, with a want of hair, and speaks very quiet when he

is most to be feared?"

"the same," the squire answered. "but i marvel how you should

know how he speaks when he is in wrath, for he is very gentle-

minded with those who are beneath him."

"praise to the saints! it was not i who angered him," said the

fat michel.

"who, then?"

"it was young sieur de crespigny of saintonge, who chanced to be

here, and made game of the englishman, seeing that he was but a

small man and hath a face which is full of peace. but indeed

this good knight was a very quiet and patient man, for he saw

that the sieur de crespigny was still young and spoke from an

empty head, so he sat his horse and quaffed his wine, even as you

are doing now, all heedless of the clacking tongue." and what

then, michel?"

"well, messieurs, it chanced that the sieur de crespigny, having

said this and that, for the laughter of the varlets, cried out at

last about the glove that the knight wore in his coif, asking if

it was the custom in england for a man to wear a great archer's

glove in his cap. pardieu! i have never seen a man get off his

horse as quick as did that stranger englishman. ere the words

were past the other's lips he was beside him, his face nigh

touching, and his breath hot upon his cheeks. 'i think, young

sir,' quoth he softly, looking into the other's eyes, 'that now

that i am nearer you will very clearly see that the glove is not

an archer's glove.' 'perchance not,' said the sieur de crespigny

with a twitching lip. 'nor is it large, but very small,' quoth

the englishman. 'less large than i had thought,' said the other,

looking down, for the knight's gaze was heavy upon his eyelids.

'and in every way such a glove as might be worn by the fairest

and sweetest lady in england,' quoth the englishman. 'it may be

so,' said the sieur de crespigny, turning his face from him. 'i

am myself weak in the eyes, and have often taken one thing for

another,' quoth the knight, as he sprang back into his saddle and

rode off, leaving the sieur de crespigny biting his nails before

the door. ha! by the five wounds, many men of war have drunk my

wine, but never one was more to my fancy than this little

englishman."

"by my hilt! he is our master, michel," quoth aylward, "and such

men as we do not serve under a laggart. but here are four

deniers, michel, and god be with you! en avant, camarades! for

we have a long road before us."

at a brisk trot the three friends left cardillac and its wine-

house behind them, riding without a halt past st. macaire, and on

by ferry over the river dorpt. at the further side the road

winds through la reolle, bazaille, and marmande, with the sunlit

river still gleaming upon the right, and the bare poplars

bristling up upon either side. john and alleyne rode silent on

either side, but every inn, farm-steading, or castle brought back

to aylward some remembrance of love, foray, or plunder, with

which to beguile the way.

"there is the smoke from bazas, on the further side of garonne,"

quoth he. "there were three sisters yonder, the daughters of a

farrier, and, by these ten finger-bones! a man might ride for a

long june day and never set eyes upon such maidens. there was

marie, tall and grave, and blanche petite and gay, and the dark

agnes, with eyes that went through you like a waxed arrow. i

lingered there as long as four days, and was betrothed to them

all; for it seemed shame to set one above her sisters, and might

make ill blood in the family. yet, for all my care, things were

not merry in the house, and i thought it well to come away.

there,