They shone instead with a grave ardour of happiness, which checked Catherine's embrace and set her heart beating.
She walked with light steps and kissed the young wife's cheek--a kiss like thistledown.
"You are free ?" Catherine stammered.

Her voice seemed to break unwillingly in a holy quiet.
"I am free," the Maid answered.

"I have come again to you as I promised.
But I cannot bide long.

I am on a journey." "You go to the King ?" said Catherine.
"I go to my King." The Maid's hand took Catherine's, and her touch was like the fall of gossamer.

She fingered the girl's broad ring which had come from distant ancestors, the ring which Sir Aimery of Beaumanoir had worn in the Crusades.