Thus saying, she stooped and kissed Elliot, who leaped up and caught the Maid in her arms, and they embraced, and parted for that time, Elliot weeping to lose her, and at the thought of the dangers of war.

CHAPTER XVII—­HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES

The Maid’s confessor, Pasquerel, stood in the chamber where we had met, with his eyes bent on the ground, so that Elliot and I had no more free speech at that time.  Therefore I said farewell, not daring to ask of her when her mind was to visit my hosts, and, indeed, my trust was that she might leave this undone, lest new cause of sorrow should arise.  Thus we parted, with very courtly leave-taking, the priest regarding us in his manner, and I was carried in the litter through the streets, that had been so quiet when I came forth in the morning, but now they were full of men and of noise.  Herds of cattle were being driven for the food of the army marching against Jargeau; there were trains of carts full of victual, and the citizens having lent the Maid their great pieces of ordnance, the bombard called “The Shepherdess,” and the gun “Montargis,” these were being dragged along by clamorous companies of apprentices, and there were waggons charged with powder, and stone balls, and boxes of arrows, spades and picks for trenching, and all manner of munition of war.  By reason of the troops of horses and of marching men, they that bore me were often compelled to stop.  Therefore, lest any who knew me should speak with me, I drew the curtains of the litter, for I had much matter to think on, and was fain to be private.  But this was to be of no avail, for I heard loud voices in my own tongue.

“What fair lady is this who travels so secretly?” and, with this, one drew the curtains, and there was the face of Randal Rutherford, with others behind him.  Then he uttered a great cry—­

“Faith, it is our lady of the linen-basket, and no other”; and leaning within, he gave me a rough embrace and a kiss of his bearded lips.  “Why so early astir, our sick man?” he cried.  “Get yourself healed anon, and be with us when we take Paris town, Norman, for there is booty enough to furnish all Scotland.  Shalt thou be with us yet?”

“If my strength backs my will, Randal; and truly your face is a sight for sair eyne, and does me more good than all the powers of the apothecary.”

“Then here is to our next merry meeting,” he cried, “under Paris walls!”

With that the Scots gave a shout, and, some of them crowding round to press my hand, they bade me be of good cheer, and all went onward, singing in the tune of “Hey, tuttie tattie,” which the pipers played when we broke the English at Bannockburn.

So I was borne back to the house of Jacques Boucher, and, in the sunny courtyard, there stood Charlotte, looking gay and fair, yet warlike, as I deemed.  She was clad in a long garment of red over a white robe, and had sleeves of green, so that she wore the spring’s own colours, and she was singing a French ditty concerning a lady who has a lover, and vows that she will never be a nun.