eBooks Base 2000

But often the thought of Jeanne drove a sword into her
contentment. . . . So when she lifted her eyes from her embroidery and saw
the Maid before her, relief and gladness sent her running to greet her.
Long afterwards till she was very old Catherine would tell of that hour.
She saw the figure outlined against a window full of the amethyst sky of
evening. The white armour and the gay surcoat were gone.
Jeanne was still clad like a boy in a coarse grey tunic and black breeches,
but her boots did not show any dust of the summer roads. Her face was very
pale, as if from long immurement, and her eyes were no more merry. They
shone instead with a grave ardour of happiness, which checked Catherine's
embrace and set her heart beating.
She walked with light steps and kissed the young wife's cheek--a kiss like
thistledown.
"You are free?" Catherine stammered. Her voice seemed to break unwillingly
in a holy quiet.
"I am free," the Maid answered. "I have come again to you as I promised.
But I cannot bide long.


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