She followed the direction of my eyes, started, and laughed--a
little oddly. But she fetched the weapon. "Take it, and do
not," she urged, "do not lose time. Do not mention me to
Pavannes. Do not let the white badges be seen as you return.
That is really all. And now good luck!" She gave me her hand to
kiss. "Good luck, my knight-errant, good luck--and come back to
me soon!"

She smiled divinely, as it seemed to me, as she said these last
words, and the same smile followed me down stairs: for she
leaned over the stair-head with one of the lamps in her hand, and
directed me how to draw the bolts. I took one backward glance as
I did so at the fair stooping figure above me, the shining eyes,
and tiny outstretched hand, and then darting into the gloom I
hurried on my way.

I was in a strange mood. A few minutes before I had been at
Pavannes' door, at the end of our journey; on the verge of
success. I had been within an ace, as I supposed at least, of
executing my errand. I had held the cup of success in my hand.
And it had slipped. Now the conflict had to be fought over
again; the danger to be faced. It would have been no more than
natural if I had felt the disappointment keenly: if I had almost
despaired.

But it was otherwise--far otherwise. Never had my heart beat
higher or more proudly than as I now hurried through the streets,
avoiding such groups as were abroad in them, and intent only on
observing the proper turnings. Never in any moment of triumph in