It was a happy evening that which they passed in Charleville, for there is nought which so heightens the zest of pleasure as remembered pain; nought that so brightens the sense of security as danger past. All was bustle and confusion in the little town, which was not then fortified; every inn was full, every house was occupied; but it was willing bustle and gay confusion. From one hostel to another, parties were going every moment, and the door of that at which the young Count of Charolois had taken up his quarters, was besieged both by the townspeople and his own friends and followers. The tale of the swollen torrent, and the mill swept away, was told to the noble Prince by the Lord of St. Paul and Sir John Grey; and when Richard of Woodville, who had lingered a little with Mary Grey, appeared, the Count grasped his hand with a generous warmth, which was very winning in one so high, calling him frequently his friend; and then turning to Sir John Grey, he demanded, "Said I not, noble knight, of what stuff he was made?" "You did him but justice, my good lord," replied the knight; "and I do him full justice now. Well has he won his lady's hand, and he shall have it." "Come!" cried the Prince, starting up; "I will go offer her my homage, too. But why should we not see the wedding ere we part, Sir John?" "Nay, nay, my lord," answered the English knight; "I have grown proud with restored prosperity; and my child must go to the altar in my own land, and with my own old followers round me." Oh, slow age, how tardy is it to yield to the eager haste of youth! But Sir John Grey added words still less pleasant to the ear of Richard of Woodville. "When I return from the Court of the Emperor, my noble Prince," he continued, "I speed back at once to Westminster. I trust that your expedition will then be over; and Sir Richard here may follow me with all speed. Once there, I will not make him wait." Such was the first intimation Woodville had received of the course that lay before him and Sir John Grey; for the previous moments had passed in words of tenderness with her he loved, and in long, but not uninteresting, explanations with her father. He had hoped that their paths would lie together; and, without inquiring what motive should carry Sir John Grey with the Count of Charolois into the Duchy of Burgundy, he had arrived at the conclusion, that the knight's steps were bent thither as well as his own. It was a bitter disappointment, for imagination in such cases is ever the handmaid of hope; and Richard of Woodville had fancied that, in the course of the long expedition before them, many an opportunity must occur for urging upon Sir John Grey his petition for Mary's hand. Now, however, they were again about to be separated, with wide lands between them, and with the certainty of months, perhaps years, elapsing ere they met again.