A sharp sound ran through the hall—that portion of it that was not burgher. Truly Roche-de-Frêne was making a demand immense, portentous—The red was in the faces of the prince’s bailiffs and in those of other officials. But Gaucelm the Fortunate maintained a quietness. He looked at Thibaut Canteleu as though he saw the generations behind him and the generations ahead. He spoke. “That is what you now wish and ask?” “Lord, that is what we wish and ask.” “And if I agree not?” “We are your merchants and artisans, lord! What can we do? But are love and ready service naught? Fair good lord, and my Lady Audiart, we hold that we ask a just—yea, as God lives, a righteous thing! Moreover, we think, lord, that we plead, not to such as the Count of Montmaure, but to Roche-de-Frêne!” Behind him spread a deep, corroboratory murmur, a swaying of bodies and nodding of heads. The winter sunshine, streaming in through long, narrow windows, made luminous the positive colours, the greens, blues, reds of apparel, the faces swarthy, rosy or pale, the workman hands and the caps held in them, the smoother merchant hands and the better caps held in them. It lighted Thibaut Canteleu, still kneeling, in a blue tunic and grey hose, a blue cap upon the pavement beside him. The prince spoke. “Get you to your feet, Thibaut, and depart, all of you! A week from to-day, at this hour, come again, and you shall be answered.” Thibaut Canteleu took up his cap and rose from his knees. He made a deep reverence to the dais, then stepped backward. All the deputation moved backward, kept their faces toward the prince until they reached the doors out of which they passed, between the men-at-arms. The blur of red and blue and green, of faces pale or sanguine or swarthy, filtered away, disappeared. The hall became again all castle—a place of lord and lady, knight, esquire, man-at-arms, and page, a section of the world of chivalry. All around occurred a slight shifting of place, a flitting of whispers. The prince stirred, turned slightly in his great chair, and spoke in an undertone to his daughter. She answered in as low a voice, sitting quite still, her long, slender hands resting upon the arms of her chair. Gaucelm nodded, then spoke to the seneschal standing to the right of the dais. “Now will we hear Montmaure’s envoy.” CHAPTER XII MONTMAURE THERE came into the hall, ushered by the seneschal and walking with Stephen the Marshal to whom had been confided his entertainment, a knight banneret, very good-looking, very sumptuously attired, with an air of confidence verging on audacity. Behind and attending him were two other knights, lesser men; behind these, three esquires. All were dressed with a richness; all, indefinably, stood in a debatable strip between friend and foe.