Morning broke, a sky of rose and pearl over Roche-de-Frêne. The sun rose, and the rays came into the chamber where was being nursed back to life and strength Stephen the Marshal. Each day now saw improvement; as the year ebbed, the vital force in him gained. Gaunt and spectre-pale, he yet left his bed each day; arm over his squire’s shoulder, walked slowly to a great chair by the window, sat there wrapped in a furred robe, and listened to the ocean of sound that now was Roche-de-Frêne. Sometimes the ocean had only a murmuring voice, and sometimes for long hours it raged in storm. Stephen prayed for patience and from minute to minute sent page and squire for news. This morn dawned in quiet; yesterday, all day there had been storm. The sun gilded the court beneath and the chapel front, built at angles with the great pile in which he was lodged. He could hear the chanting of the mass. That was ended, the sunshine strengthened, somewhere a trumpet was blown. Stephen prayed again for patience, and despatched his squire Bertran for authentic tidings. Bertran went, but presently returned, having met without a page sent by the princess. She would know of Lord Stephen’s health this morn, and if he felt strength for a visit from her and some talk of importance. Stephen sent answer that he wished for no greater cordial. Audiart came, with her Maeut, who, with the squires and the old nurse, waited in a small ante-room. That which the princess had to say wanted no auditors other than those whom she chose—and for this matter she would choose but few. Stephen, gaunt and drained of blood, stood to greet her, would not sit until she had taken the chair they had placed. She looked at him very kindly. “Lord Stephen, much would I give to see the old Stephen here—” “Ah, God, madam!” said Stephen, “not here would you see him, but out there where they fight for Roche-de-Frêne.” “Aye, that is true!” “I shall soon be there, my Lady Audiart—a log here no longer!” “Maître Arnaut tells me that. I talked with him before coming here. He says that yet a few days, and you might take command.” “As I will, princess, if you give it me—But no man lives who can better your leading!” “My leading or another’s, Stephen, our case is desperate. The deer feels the breath of the hounds.... Now listen to me, and let not strangeness startle your mind. At the brink of no further going, then it is that we fare forth and go further!” The sun rode higher by an hour before she left Stephen the Marshal. She left him a flushed, half-greatly-rallied, half-foreboding man, but one wholly servant of her and of Roche-de-Frêne’s great need,—one, too, who could follow mind with mind, and accept daring, when daring promised results, with simplicity. From this chamber she went to the castle-hall and found there, awaiting her, Thibaut Canteleu, for whom she had sent. She took him upon the dais, her attendants clustering at the lower end of the hall, out of hearing.