During supper, to which they called me, my master showed me the best
countenance that might be, and it was great joy to me to eat off clean
platters once again, on white linen strewn with spring flowers. As the
time was Lent, we had fare that they called meagre: fish from the Vienne
water, below the town, and eggs cooked in divers fashions, all to the
point of excellence, for the wine and fare of Chinon are famous in
France. As my duty was, I waited on my master and on the maid Elliot,
who was never silent, but babbled of all that she had heard since she
came into the town; as to where the Pucelle had lighted off her horse (on
the edge-stone of a well, so it seemed), and where and with what goodwife
she lodged, and how as yet no message had come to her from the castle and
the King; and great joy it was to watch and to hear her. But her father
mocked, though in a loving manner; and once she wept at his bourdes, and
shone out again, when he fell on his knees, offering her a knife and
baring his breast to the stroke, for I have never seen more love between
father and child, my own experience being contrary. Yet to my sisters my
father was ever debonnair; for, as I have often marked, the mothers love
the sons best and the sons the mothers, and between father and daughters
it is the same. But of my mother I have spoken in the beginning of this
history.

When supper was ended, and all things made orderly, I had no great mind
for my bed, having slept my fill for that time. But the maid Elliot left
us early, which was as if the light had been taken out of the room.

Beside the fire, my master fell to devising about the state of the
country, as burgesses love to do. And I said that, if I were the
Dauphin, Chinon Castle should not hold me long, for my "spur would be in
my horse's side, and the bridle on his mane," {9} as the old song of the