Lying there, lulled but not convinced, her sobs grew weaker.

She cried herself to sleep, and he kissed her sleeping.
In the cathedral church of his fathers he did on, by the hands of the Archbishop, the red cap and girdle and shoes of Anjou; there he held up the leopard shield for all to see.

There also upon the bent head of Jehane--she kneeling before him--he laid for a little while the same cap, then in its room a circlet of golden leaves.

If he was sovereign Count, girt with the sword, then she was Countess of Anjou before her grudging world.

What more was she?
Wife of a dead man and his killer! The words stayed by her, and tinged the whole of her life..