By Saint Maclou and the astonishing works he did, I should be bad Norman, and worse Angevin, and less English than I am, if I loved the French.' He tried to draw her in; but she, rather, strained away from him, elbowed her knee, and rested her chin upon her hand.

She looked gravely down to the whitening logs, where the ashes were gaining on the red.
'My lord loves not the French,' she said, 'but he loves honour.

He is the King's son, loving his father.' 'By my soul, I do not,' he assured her, with perfect truth, then he caught her round the waist and turned her bodily to face him.

After he had kissed her well he began to speak more seriously.
'Jehane,' he said, 'I have thought all this stifling night upon the heath, Homing to her I am seeking my best.

My best?
You are all I have in the world.