When Jehane saw her stand on the steps of the church amidst the pomp of Normandy and England--three archbishops by her, William Marshal, William Longchamp, the earls, the baronage, the knights, heralds, blowers of trumpets; when at her example all this glory of Church and State bent the knee to Richard of Anjou, and he, kneeling in turn, kissed his mother's hand, then rose and to the others gave his to be kissed; when he, vowed to her, pledged to her, known of her more secretly than of any, passed through the blare of horns alone into the soaring nave--Jehane shivered and crossed herself, faltered a little, and might have fallen.

Her King was doing by her as she had prayed him; but the scrutiny of the Queen-Mother had been a dry gloss to the text.

She had been able to bear her forsaking with a purer heart, but for the narrow eyes that witnessed it and gleamed.

One of her ladies, Magdalene Coucy, put an arm about her; so Countess Jehane stiffened and jerked up her head, and after that walked with no more faltering.

If she had seen, as Milo saw, Gilles de Gurdun glowering at her from a corner, it might have gone hard with her.