And with the rage died all the passion and pride. In the eyes that had
gazed at Joan over the parapet, and that now turned to the east, there
was reflected the dawning of a new day.

* * * * *

The castle of Philip the Black lay in a plain. For as much as a mile in
every direction the forest had been sacrificed against the loving
advances of his cousin Charles. Also about the castle was a moat in
which swam noisy geese and much litter.

When, shortly after dawn, the sentry at the drawbridge saw a great horse
with a double burden crossing the open space he was but faintly
interested. A belated peasant with his Christmas dues, perhaps. But
when, on the lifting of the morning haze, he saw that the horse bore two
children and one a girl, he called another man to look.

"Troubadours, by the sound," said the newcomer. For the Fool was
singing to cheer his lack of breakfast. "Coming empty of belly, as come
all troubadours."

But the sentry was dubious. Minstrels were a slothful lot, averse to the
chill of early morning.

And when the pair came nearer and drew up beyond the moat, the soldiers
were still at a loss. The Fool's wandering eyes and tender mouth bespoke
him no troubadour, and the child rode with head high like a princess.

"I have come to see my mother," Clotilde called, and demanded admission,