Preserving, at least endeavouring to preserve, even in the ex-
tremity of grief, that composure which the manners of the times
enjoined — for chivalry had its stoicism as well as philosophy — Eve-
line replied with a voice which she would fain have rendered firm,
and which was tremulous in her despite — " Yes, father, you say
well— here is no longer aught left for maiden? to look upon. War-



THE BETROTHED. 53

like meed and honoured deed sunk when yonder white plume
touched the bloody ground.— Come, maidens, there is no longer
aught left us to see — to mass, to mass — the tourney is over ! "

There was wildness in her tone, and when she rose, with the air
of one who would lead out a procession, she staggered, and would
have fallen, but for the support of the confessor. Hastily wrapping
her head in her mantle, as if ashamed of the agony of grief which
she could not restrain, and of which her sobs and the low moaning
sounds that issued from under the folds enveloping her face, de-
clared the excess, she suffered leather Aldrovand to conduct her
whither he would.
