“Not many people would have troubled about my feet,” said Denise, almost humbly. “Bah, many people are fools.” The two women looked at each other, and Marpasse seemed to understand. She went red under her brown skin, laughed at herself contemptuously, and began to drop in the oil. “The Black Cat has prowled away,” she said, “and the cat is a selfish beast. Now for some cool grass.” She scrambled aside, and tearing grass from some of the tussocks on the bank, moulded the stuff about Denise’s feet, binding it in place with pieces of rag. “You will walk easier to-morrow,” she said, smiling, “and you had better buy new hose in Guildford town.” She was still smiling when Denise bent down and kissed the coarse, laughing, good-natured mouth. “Bah, if you had a beard, it might please me,” quoth Marpasse. But from that moment she and Denise were friends. The three of them slept that night in the sand-pit, Marpasse showing Denise how she could scoop a hole in the sand, and lie in comfort. And Denise slept till after the dawn had broken. When she woke, the two were packing their belongings into a sack. Denise felt that they had been talking about her while she slept, for they eyed her a little curiously, but with no cunning or distrust. Nor was Denise’s instinct at fault. “She is not one of us,” Marpasse had said, “not yet, at all events, poor baggage.” And Marpasse had looked almost pityingly at Denise, for her face was beautiful yet very sad in sleep, bathed by its auburn hair. “She has had trouble,” Marpasse had gone on to declare; “curses, I was more like that myself once.” Whereat Isoult had jeered. Marpasse came over, and unbound Denise’s feet, and in the doing of it, asked a few blunt questions. “Maybe you would not be seen with us on the road?” she asked. Denise’s brown eyes answered “why?” Marpasse looked at her and smiled. “Where may you be going?” This time Denise’s eyes were troubled, they had no answer. “Nowhere, and anywhere? God o’ me. I learnt that road long ago, and a rough road it is. Come with us, if it pleases you. I am a wise crow.” Denise looked puzzled. She liked Marpasse, and human sympathy was something, but she could make nothing either of her or of Isoult, save that Isoult had a jealous temper. They were so very gay for beggars, nor had they the air of being upon a pilgrimage. “Perhaps you are for Canterbury?” she asked. Marpasse sat back on her heels, and opened her mouth wide to laugh. “No, my dear, we are not for St. Thomas’s shrine. We are in search of service, Isoult and I. Isoult is travelling to find service in the household of some lord.” Denise’s eyes were innocent enough as she looked at Isoult, but the girl bit her lips, and turned away. Marpasse had mastered her laughter. On the contrary she was studying Denise with a questioning frown. “Are you after St. Thomas’s blessing, my dear?” she asked.