He saw Denise rise, drop her white tunic and shift, and kneel naked upon the altar steps. An old monk bent over her, and clipped away her hair so that it fell like light about her body. She bent before the altar with outstretched arms, and holy water was sprinkled upon her body and her clothes. A voice sounded. She rose slowly and re-arrayed herself. One long murmur seemed to pass like a wind through the darkened church. The year of a novitiate had begun, a season of probation that should pass before more solemn and final vows should be put upon her. Silvius, shrewd man, had advised Denise guardedly for the sake of the honour of his “house.” There should be a ceremony, a kneeling before the altar. That would please the people, and bring her more solemnly before their eyes. Then let Denise prove herself as a child of miracles, and they could talk of the greater and more lasting vows. Then the aisles seemed alive with swirling water. The people were moving forth with lowered heads, while Denise knelt again before the high altar with its candles. Aymery went with the people, looking back but once when he had reached the western door. The night struck warm after the cold air of the great church. He found himself in the abbey town, walking aimlessly in the midst of many moving, whispering figures. Then a great hunger to be alone seized him. He almost ran through the straggling town, up past Mountjoye to where he had hidden his horse. And when the first grey of the dawn came he was galloping northwards along the forest roads as though trying to distance the memories of the past night. CHAPTER XVII At Pevensey that June-tide Peter of Savoy discovered something that concerned him, thanks to Gaillard’s foolhardiness, and the Gascon’s boastful, passionate nature. There were bitter words between the Lady of the Lute, and Peter of Savoy, though much of the bitterness was in Etoile’s mouth, for the Count could be cold as a frost, when cheated. “Madame,” said he, looking her coolly in the face, “it is every man’s privilege to see that he is not fooled. Let us be merciful to one another. You will find a horse at the gate.” Now Etoile might have persuaded most men with her beauty, but in my Lord Peter’s eyes there was a look that told her that he would use steel if she made a mocking of his pride. She smothered her words, and dissembled her wrath before him, for he was too cold and clever a man to be treated as she would have treated Gaillard. “Go,” his eyes said to her, “and be thankful in the going.” And Etoile hid her rage, and went, half wondering the while whether some man had orders to stab her in the back. Then Peter of Savoy sent for Messire Gaillard, but the Gascon had become suddenly discreet, and betaken himself early to the stable. His master snapped his fingers. “Let the fool go,” he said. “Madame will need company on the road to the devil.”