"Oh, I'll convey it, never fear for me, lady. The little soft is fool enough to think I admire him. It will be such fun! I shall almost burst with laughter when he gulps it down. I'll take him a tit-bit also, for his supper. The simpleton will be overjoyed, and I expect he'll begin maundering something about love," and Jeannette clapped her hands and skipped about gleefully. This was a matter that just jumped with her madcap humour, and her high spirits could any time carry her through a frolic of this sort; but when fairly cornered, her nerves were subject to complete collapse, and she became as helpless as any bird before the swoop of a hawk, unable to do anything but cower and helplessly flutter. "Really, Jeannette, I think you treat this poor fellow rather too badly," said Alice. "It's only a joke, my lady. I like to tease him, he amuses me so!" "Well, get him some supper, then, and I will make him some mulled ale. For this once, at least, we must ignore our consciences; but indeed, I almost think the end will justify the means, for this worthy Saxon deserves some better fate than the one awaiting him, and I care not if I permit the claims of humanity and of chivalry to triumph, even though it be at the expense of my own people, of whose cruelty and greed I am heartily ashamed." The evening hours were advancing rapidly towards the twelfth. Much of the clamour of the early hours of the night was effectually hushed in the drunken slumbers of both officers and men, and at the dread hour the attempt at rescue was to be made; so Jeannette, fortifying herself for her humorous but somewhat daring feat, tripped boldly along the corridors, torch in hand, bearing the repast prepared for her would-be lover. "There, you false man, that is a great deal too good for you!" she said, accosting Paul Lazaire, who was mounting guard over the cell in which Oswald was confined, and who, in great trepidation and fear, shrank before the ghostly advent of an unknown and muffled visitant at the dread hour of night. "Oh! goodness me, my pretty Jeannette, is it you? I was quite startled. I thought it was a ghost, and I declare it's an angel." "You thought it was that ugly Saxon wench I caught you kissing, you false man! That is what you thought." "Tush, tush, Jeannette! Whenever will you forget that? You know I love only you. Give me a kiss, and let us be friends. I vow I will never look at another Saxon wench as long as I live." "Now, get off with you, if you please. You make a mistake if you think I am going to be kissed by you, when you are so fond of kissing any dirty hussy you meet." "Now, don't, my fiery little wife! This is too bad--too bad for anything, Jeannette! You never have done with it."