Hardly had the priest begun his _introibo_ when Jehane Saint-Pol, who had been awake all night, stole in with a hood on her head, and holding herself very stiffly, knelt on the floor.

She joined her hands and stuck them up before her, so that the tips of her fingers, pointing upwards as her thoughts would fly, were nearly level with her chin.

Thus frozen in prayer she remained throughout the office; nor did she relax when at the elevation of the Host Richard bowed himself to the earth.

It seemed as if she too, bearing between her hands her own heart, was lifting it up for sacrifice and for worship.
The Count was communicated.

He was a very religious man, who would sooner have gone without his sword than his Saviour upon any affairs.
Jehane saw him fed without a twitch of the lips.