There came a day in March when the two, Laure and Flammecœur, with Eloise and her now very _bel ami_, Yvain, were riding from Crépuscule to the priory. As they went, the spring sun sent its beams aslant across the road; and birds, newly arrived from the far south, were site-hunting among the black trees. The air was filled with the chilly sweetness that made one dizzy with dreams of coming summer; and both Laure and the trouvère grew slowly intoxicated as they rode side by side, so close that his knee touched her palfrey’s flank. Behind them, Yvain and Eloise were still discussing their love-notions. The afternoon was misty with approaching sunset. In the radiant golden light, Laure’s heart grew big with unshed tears of life; and before the sobs came, Flammecœur, leaning far toward her, whispered thickly,— “Thou must come to me alone! I must have thee alone. I must know thy lips. ’Fore God, refuse me not, thou greatly beloved!” Laure drew a long, shivering breath and looked slowly into his face. Her eyes rested full upon his, and she did not speak, but he read her reply. “Where shall I come to-night?” he asked. “To-night!” “Assuredly. To-night. Dieu! Thinkest thou that I can stand aloof from thee forever? Thinkest thou my blood is water in my veins? To-night!” Laure mused a little, her eyes looking afar off, as if she dreamed. She brought them back to him with a start. “To-night—by starlight—in the convent garden. Canst thou climb the wall?” “Ah! thou shalt see!” Laure’s heart palpitated with the look he gave her, and she sat silent under it, while, bit by bit, all her training, all her year of precepts, all herself, her womanhood, her truth, her steadfastness to righteousness, slipped away from her under the spell of this most powerful of all emotions. And presently she turned to him again with such an expression of exaltation in her poor face, that his heart warmed to her with a tenderer feeling. “At what hour?” he whispered. “One hour after the last tolling of the bell at compline after confession.” “Confession!” the word slipped from him before he thought. He saw Laure turn first scarlet and then very white; and her lips trembled. “Ah, Laure, most beloved, heed it not! If there be any sin in loving as we love, lay it all on me. For on my soul, I would leave heaven itself gladly behind for thee! And since God created thee as lovely as thou art, wert thou not made to be beloved? Look, Laure! see the gray bird there among the trees! Behold, it is the bird of the Saint Esprit! It is an omen. It is our heavenly sign; therefore be not afraid.” And as Laure promised him, so she did. She understood so well how the Flaming-heart wanted to be alone with her: did she not also long for solitude with him? And if they were alone for one hour, God was above. He saw and He knew all things. Why, then, should she be afraid?