So the Knight of the Hawk’s Claw came to the convent that day in May, hardening himself against all possible hope, and prepared to hear nothing but the tale of Denise’s death. Ursula received him in her parlour, Ursula who had set her final condemnation upon Denise because of the perversity and ingratitude she had shown in escaping like a thief in the night. And Ursula cursed Denise before Aymery’s face, pouring out her indignation against the woman, as though Aymery would sympathise with her over Denise’s “contumacy and corruption.” Ursula had no eyes to see the change that had come over the face of the man before her. She was so busy with her denunciations that she did not mark the wrath rising like a cloud on the horizon. Aymery’s silence may have deceived her, for he heard her to the end. He looked hard at Ursula, and the gleam in his eyes would have made a less confident woman wince. “So you thought that she needed scourging!” Ursula was very dense that day, refusing to see what a tangle she was weaving. “The scourge is an excellent weapon, messire,” she babbled, “my own back has borne it often, and to the betterment of my soul. But this girl had no gratitude, and no sense of shame. She was obstinately blind, and would not see. I sought to move her by forcing your compassion upon her, and showing her that it was your desire that she should mend her life.” Aymery looked at Ursula as though tempted to strangle the consequential voice in that thin, austere throat. “You told her that, madame!” “I held her shame before her eyes, for the tale of her innocence was not to be believed. Her whole character contradicted it.” “And she has fled from you.” “With ingratitude, and cunning.” “Before God, I do not blame her.” He stood motionless a moment, looking down on Ursula with such fierce contempt, that, like many stupid people, she wondered how the offence had risen. Her eyes dilated when Aymery drew his sword. Her mouth opened to call the nuns who waited in the passage, but his laugh reassured her, the laugh that a man bestows on a thing beneath his strength. “Madame,” he said, “you have nothing to fear from me but the truth. You see this sword of mine”—and he held the hilt towards her, grasping it by the blade. Ursula stared at him as a timid gentlewoman might stare at a rat. “That hilt is in the form of a cross, madame; I would beg you to look at it. You may have heard that the Cross has some significance for Christians.” Ursula began to recover her dignity. It was borne in upon her suddenly that this man had stern eyes, and an ironical, mocking mouth. And Ursula began to dislike those eyes of his. “Your words are beyond me, messire,” and her normal frostiness struggled to pervade the atmosphere. Aymery looked at her as a man might look at something that was very repulsive and very ugly.