'It might be well,' said Jean, in the matter-of-fact tone of a
practical young lady; 'mewed up in these dismal castles, we
shall never get princely husbands like our sisters. I might be
Queen of Beauty, I doubt me whether you are fair enough,
Eleanor.'

'Oh, that is not what I think of,' said Eleanor. 'It is to see
our own Margaret, and to see and hear the minstrel knights,
instead of the rude savages here, scarce one of whom knows what
knighthood means!'

'Ay, and they will lay hands on us and wed us one of these
days,' returned Jean, 'unless we vow ourselves as nuns, and I
have no mind for that.'

'Nor would a convent always guard us,' said Eleanor; 'these
reivers do not stick at sanctuary. Now in that happy land
ladies meet with courtesy, and there is a minstrel king like our
father, Rene is his name, uncle to Margaret's husband. Oh! it
would be a very paradise.'

'Let us go, let us go!' exclaimed Jean.

'Go!' said Mary, who had drawn nearer to them while they spoke.
'Whither did ye say?'

'To France--to sister Margaret and peace and sunshine,' said
Eleanor.

'Eh!' said the girl, a pale fair child of twelve; 'and what