The woman was pale and frightened, and she sobbed bitterly as she knelt at the feet of her Grace of Brittany. The child too was pale, but she stood silent, with her small hands clasped before her, not offering to kneel, as did her companion. "Oh, gracious lady, give us permission to go on our way at dawn to-morrow!" imploded the woman. "We have been brought out of our way by your soldiers, and if we do not reach home soon I do not know what will happen," and she concluded with another burst of tears. "You should be German by your accent," said the duchess kindly. "Calm yourself and tell me your name and why you have come to Brittany." The woman hesitated, and the child said quietly, "Tell her Grace your name; there is no reason why you should not do so." "Cunegunda Leutner; I am an Austrian, your Grace," was the reply. "Then she is a subject of your own, after all, Cousin Anne, since you are to marry the Archduke of Austria, _Poco Danari_," interposed Le Glorieux, who was not afraid to rush in where angels fear to tread. The little duchess blushed crimson at this speech. Perhaps she was annoyed to hear the name _Poco Danari_, which means poverty-stricken, applied to her lover, and which had been given to Maximilian of Austria because his rich old father was too stingy to allow him necessary funds. Whatever the cause, she seemed about to administer a rebuke to the fool, then controlling herself turned again to the woman. "And the girl, is she your child?" "No, your Grace, but I have cared for her from the day she was born." "What brought you to Brittany?" "For the reason I told your Grace's soldiers. I visited the shrine of Saint Roch, the blessed saint whose fame for healing all maladies is known far and wide." "You do not look like an invalid," remarked the duchess, surveying the stout figure and round face of the speaker. "It is the migraine, your Grace, a pain which has troubled me day and night, and which leeches tell me is liable to reach the heart. Oh, dear and gracious lady, I should not care for myself; life is not so precious that I should want to cling to it; it is for this little one that I want to live, and for that reason I have taken this long journey to implore the blessed saint to cure me, that my life may be spared until she no longer needs me." "Is the child an orphan?" "Her mother is dead, your Grace. Her mother bade me always to be a friend to her, and I promised." "Her father is married to a woman who is unkind to her?" "He--he--is about to be married, your Grace," stammered the woman. "Cousin Anne," again interrupted the jester, "this woman is telling the truth about the visit to the shrine of Saint Roch. I saw her and the child going there this morning just as I was coming away after a long prayer to be relieved of the gout, which I never have had, but which may overtake me like a thief in the night."