“Promise to strike with the knife, Marpasse. Promise or I will run, and take my chance.” And Marpasse promised so far as the knife was concerned, knowing that she would strike Gaillard before she struck Denise. CHAPTER XXIX When they returned to the fire Isoult was no longer there, but she had left some sign behind her that Marpasse understood, for the elder woman showed no concern. She was discreetly curt with Denise when the latter began to wonder what had befallen Isoult. “Lie down and sleep, my dear,” she said, “and take care of your feet, for you will want them on the morrow. The black cat can see in the dark, she will come to no harm, will Isoult.” Marpasse might as well have told Denise to love Gaillard as to sleep. Her brain was full of a listening wakefulness that started uneasily when a stick cracked on the fire. So she and Marpasse kept vigil together, while a gradual silence spread over the valley with its armed host and its sombre town. Nor were Marpasse and Denise disturbed that night, for the men of the rear-guard had been marched and counter-marched that day owing to some mad rumour, and they were dead tired, and glad to snore under any hedge. The dawn came listlessly, and without colour. The birds were awake and singing, and with their song, bizarre and discordant came the blowing of trumpets and the stupid curses of the stirring men. The dawn seemed heavy, and full of a dull discontent. Yet the birds sang, and the men cursed perfunctorily, sulkily, the creatures of a habit. So with the voices of the morning thrilling from the throats of the choir invisible, the camp of the King was one great oath. Denise was ready, and shivering to be gone. The fire was out, her body stiff and cold, the dew heavy upon the grass. The dawn had shown Denise how hemmed in she and Marpasse were. Horses stood tethered everywhere, gaunt, clumsy waggons waited like patient mammoths, not a hundred yards away a red pavilion had been pitched, its coloured canvas swelling and falling lazily with the morning breeze. The babel of coarse, rough voices that rose out of the green earth made Denise shudder and yearn to be gone. But Marpasse held her ground. “Food and drink first,” she said. Denise’s restless eyes betrayed her desire. “Rest easy,” Marpasse assured her, “men are meek in the morning, though they curse all heaven and earth. Eat and drink, and see that your shoes sit comfortably.” Denise ate with such hurry and such artificial greed that Marpasse could not help but laugh. “My teeth are not so good as yours,” she said; “if your legs are as sound we shall not do amiss.”