Читать книгу The Leopard and the Lily - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 9

Table of Contents

For some days Françoise de Dinan had been at the court of Rennes; despite the flying of many rumours she was still Gilles of Brittany's betrothed; Kristopher began to think he had put too high a value on Montauban's skill, too low a value on her faith. Even for his friend's sake he had no wish to meddle in court intrigues nor any desire to put himself against Montauban, so he waited quietly till a summons from the Duke brought him to the court.

But then he heard whispered words and laughs that made him wish Gilles was back in Brittany.

"She is a great fortune for a third brother!"

"Hearts change with titles too—she never loved him."

Kristopher passed on quickly—how had there risen even a hint of such a thing? From the Duke's demeanour—from hers—or knowledge of the practice of courts?

In the low, crowded audience chamber he stepped aside into the window, waiting his turn.

Françoise de Dinan was there, so richly dressed, so different in gay bearing and laughter he would hardly have known her for the same woman whose sad face had looked wistful through the mist.

Guy de Montauban was beside her; both glancing up saw Kristopher, and the lady paused and came a little nearer to the window.

"You know yonder soldier, madame?" said Guy, smiling. "The banished Englishman who fought so well in France."

"One of Gilles' men," she answered. "He did him some service once—were he not a tried soldier we might call him a friend."

"He will not dare to come and speak to me," she thought and was sorry for it, eyeing Kristopher through her thick, dark lashes, While she spoke to Montauban of indifferent things and pulled the velvet ribbons on her sleeve with a slight impatience.

Her month of mourning over, she had blazed into the rich garments she had ever dreamed of—a princess, the wealthiest woman in Brittany, at the summit of her desires at last. There only remained to dash her joy that she had parted with her liberty in her obscurity—a good match for Françoise de Dinan was a poor one for the Countess de Chateaubriand, and her tie to Gilles galled her secretly—she had no need to marry for money now.

She turned away at last to speak elsewhere.

"An' you've forgotten me?" said a voice behind her, and she looked round into the blue eyes of Captain Kristopher.

Delighted, she took little pains to conceal it, holding out her hand instantly.

"Captain Kristopher Fassiferne," she said, and the next instant was vexed she had the name so ready. "Where did I see you, Messire," she added lightly, to cover it.

Captain Kristopher smiled. He was perfectly unabashed, completely at his ease, like one used to courts.

"You remember," he said, "outside the walls of Hardouinaye—when the Prince said good-bye—my lady—an' you wore a purple gown an' a gold ribbon—sure, you remember now?"

His smile deepened, his face and voice held her so completely she could not take her eyes away. Guy waiting by the stairs for the Duke, looked at them frowning, but she took no heed.

"You have quick eyes," she said, "and a good memory, Sieur."

"Maybe," he smiled. "But it's some things don't—need a good memory to remember, an' one of them is you, my lady—sure it's not quite a senseless clod I am to see you and forget you."

It was the first time Françoise de Dinan had so been spoken to—she was bewildered and fascinated by something so different from the stately manners and set speeches of her nation.

"Gilles hath often spoken of you," she said, and her eyes were noting every detail of his dress and appearance. "Hath he not done more for you than a poor captaincy?"

He laughed, standing easily before her, his cap in his hands.

"You cannot be a man's friend and his favourite both—and I'm his friend, my lady."

His vivid, dancing eyes sought her face. She could not tell why—she could not answer him—but turned away with a sudden desire to hide herself—to get away from them all—and looking round and seeing Guy's pale yellow eyes on her, the desire grew. It did not please Montauban she should so remember Kristopher, and so look at him and so speak to him—for all her face was soon indifferent, it did not please him.

"The Duke," said Pierre.

Guy took his eyes from Kristopher slowly; his dark face was none the pleasanter for the other's smiles.

"The Duke." The word went round.

The Duke of Brittany crept down the stairs slowly, leaning on the Duchess' arm; he was tall and stooped, peering ahead with weak eyes.

Halfway down the courtiers were already thronging—Montauban pushing up to him, spoke a second—then standing aside, a dozen others filled his place.

The Duchess, sandy-haired, light-lashed, awkward of bearing, came over to Françoise and kissed her affectionately.

Her affection was false, and Françoise knew it, but answered with the sweetest of smiles. "There has been no news from England, madame—for long," she said. "The Duke hath not heard to-day?"

"Ah, no, ma chérie—and what is of such interest in England?"

"You ask me?" said Françoise in a soft, reproachful tone. "Ah! Madame, you—who know my heart." She turned swimming eyes on the Duchess—"Madame—your brother and my betrothed!"

Isabel smiled.

"You are very constant, ma petite—how long will it last, m'amie?"

"Madame!" sighed Françoise, and her eyes roved to Kristopher.

"Till he comes back or forgets?" asked the Duchess.

"You break my heart, Madame," said Françoise, sighing again, still looking at Kristopher. "Surely I sorrow enough for you to spare me this?"

"You keep it well hid," said the Duchess, sharply.