At the first moment, although instinctively, we reined back our horses and uncovered our heads, I had no thought but that she was a devout maiden following the office of the Church out here in the wood.

But as she turned her upraised face a little towards us, I saw upon it such a look as I have never seen on human countenance before, nor have ever seen (save upon hers) since.

A light seemed to shine either from it or upon it--how can I tell which ?--a light so pure and heavenly that no words can fully describe it, but which seemed like the radiance of heaven itself.

Her eyes were raised towards the sky, her lips parted, and through the breathless hush of silence which had fallen upon the wood, we heard the soft, sweet tones of her voice.
"Speak, my Lord--Thy servant heareth!" It was then that our horses showed the signs of terror of which I have before spoken.

For myself, I saw nothing save the shining face of the Maid--I knew who it was--there was no need for Bertrand's breathless whisper--"It is she--herself!"-- I knew it in my heart before.
She knelt there amid the fallen leaves, her face raised, her lips parted, her eyes shining as surely never human eyes have shone before.