the young girl was slight, was a blonde, and, in short, had a face not
unlike her own, while the saint was frank and noble looking, with the
beauty of an archangel. It was as if she herself had just been saved,
and she could have kissed his hands with gratitude. And to this
adventure, of which she dreamed confusedly, of a meeting on the border
of a lake and of being rescued from a great danger by a young man more
beautiful than the day, was added the recollection of her excursion
to the Chateau of Hautecoeur, and a calling up to view of the feudal
donjon, in its original state, peopled with the noble lords of olden
times.

The arms glistened like the stars on summer nights; she knew them well,
she read them easily, with their sonorous words, for she was so in the
habit of embroidering heraldic symbols. There was Jean V, who stopped
from door to door in the town ravaged by the plague, and went in to
kiss the lips of the dying, and cured them by saying, "_Si Dieu volt,
ie vueil_." And Felician III, who, forewarned that a severe illness
prevented Philippe le Bel from going to Palestine, went there in his
place, barefooted and holding a candle in his hand, and for that he had
the right of quartering the arms of Jerusalem with his own. Other and
yet other histories came to her mind, especially those of the ladies of
Hautecoeur, the "happy dead," as they were called in the Legend. In
that family the women die young, in the midst of some great happiness.
Sometimes two or three generations would be spared, then suddenly Death
would appear, smiling, as with gentle hands he carried away the daughter
or the wife of a Hautecoeur, the oldest of them being scarcely twenty
years of age, at the moment when they were at the height of earthly love
and bliss. For instance, Laurette, daughter of Raoul I, on the evening
of her betrothal to her cousin Richard, who lived in the castle, having
seated herself at her window in the Tower of David, saw him at his