The days came and went--the beautiful July days--flooding Touraine with golden sunshine from dawn to dewy eve. The air was heavy with the perfume of roses and linden blossoms. Henri's hollow face had regained its full, natural contour, and his arm had long been freed from the sling. He was able to travel--yet of his departure spoke never so much as a dying word. He was only a merry-hearted, heedless fellow, but with a very attractive manner; when it pleased him he could assume toward women at once such a courteous, amiable, respectful manner that no one could long be vexed with him, even were she the proudest of the daughters of earth. He had so completely enchanted Dame Isabella that she spent whole nights pondering over the preparation of the most _recherché_ viands. She served up to him the most skilfully made pies, capons dressed with spices after the Spanish custom, or young peacocks which she knew how to roast so artistically as not to singe a feather on tail or little crown; and when the dame saw with what love-intoxicated gaze he often fastened his eyes on the beautiful girl, she furthered his intercourse with her as only she could. It would have delighted her to win such an aristocratic connection as De Lancy. But there was one person in Montalme who could not feel friendly toward the gallant young knight--and this was the lord of the castle himself. "How long is he going to stay?" he growled out one day to Dame Isabella. "He has sent for his clothes and his pages, and next he will be inviting his friends here to display Blanche's charms to the whole country." "Don't imagine this," said Isabella, with a shrewd smile; "lovers are miserly, and would, if possible, keep the joy of their heart out of sight of the entire world." "The joy of his heart!" exclaimed Gottfried. "Then it is high time that I interfered and obliged him to declare himself!" "Let nothing of the kind occur to you!" exclaimed Isabella, with a look of horror. "Spare the germ of his young love until it ripens into an earnest desire for the happiness of marriage." Gottfried became gloomy. "If I thought that the man would woo the girl honourably! He is a most attractive fellow, but although brave and generous, the best among the young coxcombs of to-day are proud of transgressions which the worst in my day would have been ashamed of, and, in fact, they regard it only as a good joke, an aristocratic pastime, to seduce an innocent girl!" and he struck his brow with his fist. "Such an idea should never come into your mind," said Isabella, passionately; "it is shocking in you to insult the man who saved your life, by such scandalous suspicions. You call your suspicions conscientious--they should properly bear quite a different name." "What, then?" growled Gottfried. Dame Isabella stood on the tips of her toes, and hissed in his ear, "Jealousy!"