His vanity was ridiculous, his self-importance was against knowledge or
wisdom; and Heaven had given him a small brain, a big and noble heart, a
pedigree back to Rollo, and the absurd pride of a little lord in a little
land. Angele knew all this; but realised also that he had offered her
all he was able to offer to any woman.

She went now and put out both hands to him. "I shall ever pray God's
blessing on the lord of Rozel," she said, in a low voice.

"'Twould fit me no better than St. Ouen's sword fits his fingers. I'll
take thine own benison, lady--but on my cheek, not on my hand as this day
before at four of the clock." His big voice lowered. "Come, come, the
hand thou kissed, it hath been the hand of a friend to thee, as Raoul
Lempriere of Rozel said he'd be. Thy lips upon his cheek, though it be
but a rough fellow's fancy, and I warrant, come good, come ill, Rozel's
face will never be turned from thee. Pooh, pooh! let yon soldier-priest
shut his eyes a minute; this is 'tween me and thee; and what's done
before the world's without shame."

He stopped short, his black eyes blazing with honest mirth and kindness,
his breath short, having spoken in such haste.

Her eyes could scarce see him, so full of tears were they; and, standing
on tiptoe, she kissed him upon each cheek.

"'Tis much to get for so little given," she said, with a quiver in her
voice; "yet this price for friendship would be too high to pay to any
save the Seigneur of Rozel."

She hastily turned to the men who had rescued Michel and Buonespoir.