nt and the delight which

shone upon the face of the knight of hampshire as he looked upon

the strange face of the frenchman. twice he opened his mouth and

twice he peered again, as though to assure himself that his eyes

had not played him a trick.

"bertrand!" he gasped at last. "bertrand du guesclin!"

"by saint ives!" shouted the french soldier, with a hoarse roar

of laughter, "it is well that i should ride with my vizor down,

for he that has once seen my face does not need to be told my

name. it is indeed i, sir nigel, and here is my hand! i give you

my word that there are but three englishmen in this world whom i

would touch save with the sharp edge of the sword: the prince is

one, chandos the second, and you the third; for i have heard much

that is good of you."

"i am growing aged, and am somewhat spent in the wars," quoth sir

nigel; "but i can lay by my sword now with an easy mind, for i

can say that i have crossed swords with him who hath the bravest

heart and the strongest arm of all this great kingdom of france.

i have longed for it, i have dreamed of it, and now i can scarce

bring my mind to understand that this great honor hath indeed

been mine."

"by the virgin of rennes! you have given me cause to be very

certain of it," said du guesclin, with a gleam of his broad white

teeth.

"and perhaps, most honored sir, it would please you to continue

the debate. perhaps you would condescend to go farther into the

matter. god he knows that i am unworthy of such honor, yet i can

show my four-and-sixty quarterings, and i have been present at

some bickerings and scufflings during these twenty years."

"your fame is very well known to me, and i shall ask my lady to

enter your name upon my tablets," said sir bertrand. "there are

many who wish to advance themselves, and who bide their turn, for

i refuse no man who comes on such an errand. at present it may

not be, for mine arm is stiff from this small touch, and i would

fain do you full honor when we cross swords again. come in with

me, and let your squires come also, that my sweet spouse, the

lady tiphaine, may say that she hath seen so famed and gentle a

knight."

into the chamber they went in all peace and concord, where the

lady tiphaine sat like queen on throne for each in turn to be

presented to her. sooth to say, the stout heart of sir nigel,

which cared little for the wrath of her lion-like spouse, was

somewhat shaken by the calm, cold face of this stately dame, for

twenty years of camp-life had left him more at ease in the lists

than in a lady's boudoir. he bethought him, too, as he looked at

her set lips and deep-set questioning eyes, that he had heard

strange tales of this same lady tiphaine du guesclin. was it not

she who was said to lay hands upon the sick and raise them from

their couches when the leeches had spent their last nostrums?

had she not forecast the future, and were there not times when in

the loneliness of her chamber she was heard to hold converse with

some being upon whom mortal eye never rested--some dark familiar

who passed where doors were barred and windows high? sir nigel

sunk his eye and marked a cross on the side of his leg as he

greeted this dangerous dame, and yet ere five minutes had passed

he was hers, and not he only but his two young squires as well.

the mind had gone out of them, and they could but look at this

woman and listen to the words which fell from her lips--words

which thrilled through their nerves and stirred their souls like

the battle-call of a bugle.

often in peaceful after-days was alleyne to think of that scene

of the wayside inn of auvergne. the shadows of evening had

fallen, and the corners of the long, low, wood-panelled room were

draped in darkness. the sputtering wood fire threw out a circle

of red flickering light which played over the little group of

wayfarers, and showed up every line and shadow upon their faces.

sir nigel sat with elbows upon knees, and chin upon hands, his

patch still covering one eye, but his other shining like a star,

while the ruddy light gleamed upon his smooth white head. ford

was seated at his left, his lips parted, his eyes staring, and a

fleck of deep color on either cheek, his limbs all rigid as one

who fears to move. on the other side the famous french captain

leaned back in his chair, a litter of nut-shells upon his lap,

his huge head half buried in a cushion, while his eyes wandered

with an amused gleam from his dame to the staring, enraptured

englishmen. then, last of all, that pale clear-cut face, that

sweet clear voice, with its high thrilling talk of the

deathlessness of glory, of the worthlessness of life, of the pain

of ignoble joys, and of the joy which lies in all pains which

lead to a noble end. still, as the shadows deepened, she spoke

of valor and virtue, of loyalty