The little shepherdess went about her business with a barefooted tread, soft as any cat's. The cottage proved a wonder of a place. The great cupboard disgorged a silver-rimmed horn, wooden platter, a napkin white as apple blossom, red fruit piled up in a brazen bowl. The girl set the things in order on the table, with an occasional curious look stolen at the figure in mail on the settle--splendid visitant in so humble a place. And what a rich voice the knight had,--how mellow, with its many modulations of tone. His hands too were wonderfully shapen, fingers long and tapering, with nails pink as sea-shells. There surely must be a face worth gazing at, for its very nobility, under that great brazen helmet that glinted in the half light of the room. The meal was spread, but the guest still unprepared. The forest child dropped a curtsey, and a mild suggestion that the knight should make a beginning. "Will not my lord unhelm?" A rich, mischief-loving laugh startled her for answer. "Child, take the thing off if you will." The little shepherdess obeyed, and nearly dropped the helmet in the doing of it. A mass of gold fell rippling down over the violet surcoat; a pair of deep eyes looked up with a sparkling laugh; a satin upper lip and chin gave the lie to the nether part of the picture. "Christ Jesu!" quoth the girl with the helmet, and again "Christ Jesu," as though she could get no further. Igraine caught her smock and drew her nearer. "Come, little sister, kiss me for--'thank you.'" With a contradictory impulse the girl fell down on her knees and began to cry, with her brown hair tumbled in Igraine's lap. When persuasion and comforting had quieted her somewhat, she sat on the floor at Igraine's feet, her round eyes big with an unstinted wonder. Even Igraine's hunger and the devoir done upon the new milk could hardly persuade the girl that this being in armour was no saint, but a very real and warm-blooded woman. She even touched Igraine's fingers with her lips, to satisfy herself as to the warmth and solidity of the slim strong hand. She had never heard of such a marvel, a woman, and a very beautiful woman, riding out as a man, and doing man's bravest work with courage and cleverness. The girl made sure in her heart that Igraine was some princess at least, who had been blessed with miraculous power by reason of her maidenhood and the magic innocence of her mind.