What was the melody to which he listened so eagerly? Surely it was Blondel’s song,[20] which the faithful minstrel once sung under the walls of the prison where Richard the Lion-hearted was confined, and which Arthur had often sung with Alan, little dreaming that he too would be a prisoner one day. If his ear did not deceive him it was Alan’s voice, only it was weaker and more tremulous than usual. And yet no other could sing the song like that. He longed to sing it in reply, but his guard, wondering why he stopped his walk so long, approached. The singer ceased as Arthur wiped his heated brow. Suddenly his handkerchief flew into the air. Arthur pretended to be catching it, but it fluttered high above the balcony and then sank downwards like a white dove. “You have lost your handkerchief,” said the guard, “for it will either fall into the water or catch upon the walls.” “It was very precious to me,” replied Arthur; “my mother embroidered it.” Thereupon he left the balcony. The handkerchief fell into the water and was picked up by a young sailor boy, who came there on a stone vessel the day before. It was this boy who had sung Blondel’s song. He took the wet handkerchief and looked at it with beaming eyes. Then he uttered a cry, not like that of a sailor, but like that with which the hunter calls his falcon. On the following morning two weary female pilgrims arrived at the eastern gate of Rouen. When questioned by the guard, they showed letters to the Abbess of the Marien Convent, and were directed to the place. After kneeling in prayer for some time at the altar of the cathedral near by, they arose and went to the convent. As the elder pilgrim desired to present the letters in person, they were shown into the reception-room, where the Abbess awaited them behind a latticed door. Approaching it the pilgrim said, “Admit us, reverend mother.” “Do you not know that only the King and the Princesses have that privilege?” replied the Abbess. Thereupon the two unveiled. “I am Constance of Brittany,” said the elder. “And I am Marie of France,” added the other in a low voice. The Abbess bowed in great surprise and admitted the pair. “What seek you, gracious Princesses?” said she. “We have vowed to tarry here in prayer until the Holy Mother of God answers our petition,” was the reply. “And supposing the Holy One refuses?” “Then we shall pray for a poor soul until our latest breath.” “It is your right to command,” said the Abbess, conducting them to the interior of the cloister.