This was to be done at Pentecost, as the only reparation he could make her.
Not even what befell on the way to Poictiers for this very thing could alter him.

Again he misread her, or was too full of what he read in himself to read her at all.

They left Le Mans a fortnight before Pentecost with a great train of lords and ladies, Richard looking like a young god, with the light of easy mastery shining in his eyes.

She, poor girl, might have been going to the gallows--and before the end of the journey would thankfully have gone there; and no wonder.

Listen to this.
Midway between Chatelherault and Poictiers is a sandy waste covered with scrub of juniper and wild plum, which contrives a living by some means between great bare rocks.