“My men,” she said, in a voice as steady and as commanding as that of a lord of Crépuscule, “my men, a great blow has fallen upon me, and a disgrace to all that dwell in this Castle. Laure, my daughter, your demoiselle, the lady of all our hearts, hath been stolen from the place of her consecration. She hath been abducted from the priory of the Holy Madeleine, by one that hath broken our bread, and received our hospitality. Bertrand Flammecœur, the troubadour, hath brought dishonor upon Le Crépuscule, and I ask you all to avenge your lord and me!” Here she was interrupted by a chorus begun in low murmurs of astonishment, and now risen to a roar of wrath. After a moment she raised her hand, and, in the silence that quickly ensued, began again,— “In the name of your lord, I bid you avenge us! Ride forth, every man of you, into the countryside, in pursuit of the flying hound. Go every man by a different road, nor halt by day or night till you bring me tidings of my child. And to him that shall find and bring her back to me, will I give honor and riches and great love, such as I would give to none that was not of noble blood. Go, nor stay to talk of it.—Go forth in the name of God—and bring me back my child!” The men needed no further urging to action. As she ceased to speak they sprang from their places, and began preparations for departure with a spirit that showed their devotion to madame and to Laure. Madame stayed in the courtyard till Sœur Celeste and the last henchman had ridden away; and then, when there was no more to see, she turned to Alixe, and, leaning heavily upon the young girl’s shoulder, slowly mounted to her darkening chamber and lay down upon her tapestried bed. Alixe moved gently about the room, bringing her lady such physical comforts as she could, though these were not many. Neither of them spoke, and neither wept. Eleanore lay motionless, staring out into the dusk. Alixe’s eyes closed every now and then, with a kind of deadly weariness that was not physical. But she did not leave madame. After a long time, when it had grown quite dark, Alixe asked suddenly,— “Wouldst have a message sent to Rennes, madame?” “To Gerault? No, it is too late. What could he do? Nay, I will not have the shame of his house published abroad in the Duke’s capital. Speak of it no more.” And, obediently, Alixe was silent.