Katharine raised straining arms above her head in a hard gesture of despair. “You have conquered. You know that I love you. Oh, if I could find words to voice my shame, to shriek it in your face, I could better endure it! For I love you. With all my body and heart and soul I love you. Mine is the agony, for I love you! and presently I shall stand quite still and see little Frenchmen scramble about you as hounds leap upon a stag, and afterward kill you. And after that I shall live! I preserve France, but after I have slain you, Henry, I must live. Mine is the agony, the enduring agony.” She stayed motionless for an interval. “God, God! let me not fail!” Katharine breathed; and then: “O fair sweet friend, I am about to commit a vile action, but it is for the sake of the France that I love next to God. As Judith gave her body to Holofernes, I crucify my heart for the preservation of France.” Very calmly she struck upon the gong. If she could have found any reproach in his eyes during the ensuing silence, she could have borne it; but there was only love. And with all that, he smiled like one who knew the upshot of this matter. A man-at-arms came into the room. “Germain--” said Katharine, and then again, “Germain--” She gave a swallowing motion and was silent. When she spoke it was with crisp distinctness. “Germain, fetch a harp. Messire Alain here is about to play for me.” At the man’s departure she said: “I am very pitiably weak. Need you have dragged my soul, too, in the dust? God heard my prayer, and you have forced me to deny His favor, as Peter denied Christ. My dear, be very kind to me, for I come to you naked of honor.” She fell at the King’s feet, embracing his knees. “My master, be very kind to me, for there remains only your love.” He raised her to his breast. “Love is enough,” he said. She was conscious, as he held her thus, of the chain mail under his jerkin. He had come armed; he had his soldiers no doubt in the corridor; he had tricked her, it might be from the first. But that did not matter now. “Love is enough,” she told her master docilely. Next day the English entered Troyes and in the cathedral church these two were betrothed. Henry was there magnificent in a curious suit of burnished armor; in place of his helmet-plume he wore a fox-brush ornamented with jewels, which unusual ornament afforded great matter of remark among the busybodies of both armies. From _Chivalry_ by James Branch Cabell. By permission of the publishers, Robert M. McBride and Company. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF HISTORICAL FICTION The editors have found these additional selections very useful in teaching the writing of historical fiction: Barrington, E. _Fair Rosemonde._ _The Atlantic Monthly_, June, 1921. Cabell, James Branch. _Chivalry, The Rat-Trap._ Robert M. McBride and Company.