The king turned, musing, to his henchman. "We shall see! He is a
loose-lipped fellow, but he might have been a man. He has set me
thinking of my dream. I was a swine rioting in the streets of Paris
and I found a pearl-well, well. Let us kill the time with cards till
Thibaut d'Aussigny comes." Tristan produced a pack of cards from his
pouch and laid them on the table. "Do you think he will come?" he
asked.

"He does not expect to find me here, I promise you," Louis answered.
"He would not come if he did. Barber Olivier is to warn me of his
coming." As he spoke the inn-door opened a little and the king,
hearing the click of the catch, asked: "Is that he?"

Tristan glanced round over his shoulder. The door was pushed partly
open, and an old, stooped woman was peeping curiously into the room.
Tristan shrugged his shoulders.

"No, sire," he snarled, "another old woman."

By this time the king had arranged the cards to his satisfaction. He
made an imperative gesture to his companion to seat himself and in a
few seconds had forgotten everything else in the excitement of the
game. Meanwhile the old woman, having pushed the door wide open,
came softly into the room. She was a quiet, mild-faced creature, one
of those human shadows who suggest without tragedy faded youth and
withered comeliness. She was very poorly but very neatly dressed, in
worn grey and rusty black, and the linen folds about her lined face
were scrupulously clean. She looked anxiously around her, shading
her eyes with her hand, in the dim light of the tavern, unable to
discern much but evidently eager to discern something.