As he turned and held out his arms to her, Joyselle appeared at the end of the lawn. Brigit did not see him, and going slowly to her lover allowed him to embrace her.
“Ma Brigitte, mon ange—I—how can I thank you. Ah, what I have felt these last five months! I have thought—oh, many things, of late.”
His voice shook and was good to hear in its sincere emotion. For the moment in her new-born wish to be good to him she felt that she had done the wise thing, and was happy. He was good, and she would marry him and—life would go on for ever, as it had been the last few weeks.
Joyselle, standing quite still in the shadow, watched them for a moment. Then he turned and went back into the house.
The morning of the eighth of September dawned that year very gloriously, and Brigit Mead saw it dawn. Theo had begged her the evening before to go with him to the castle to see the sunrise, and pleased by the originality of the idea, she had accepted.
So while the sweet summer night still held sway over the pleasant Norman land, the two climbed the steep street leading to the gates under the ivy-grown bastions.
“The concierge always goes with visitors,” the young man explained as they passed the little house and began mounting. “But father was at school with him, so I got a permit to go up alone.”
“Is your father all right to-day, I wonder? Or will he be?” returned Brigit thoughtfully. “I never knew him to have a headache before.”
“No more did I,” answered Theo, running his words together as he did when he had been speaking much French. “He looked very seedy yesterday, but last night Tante Bathilde went in to see him while you and I were walking, and she said he was better.”
They had reached the grassy ramparts and turned to the right. Night was now melting into day, only the great Tower of Talbot (who alas! never was in Falaise in his life) stood out against a faintly moonlit sky. And glancing over his right shoulder at the mantling west, Theo hurried Brigit past the Breach of Henri IV., with its crown of lilac trees, up the steep causeway to the Tower itself. “We must climb to see the sun, dearest,” he said, “let us make haste. I am glad to be with you while you for the first time see it come up over the edge.” He was very happy and looked rather splendid in his triumphant youth. Brigit smiled at him.
“I like your town,” she answered, “and I like this view of it.”
Through the little dungeon they ran and up the narrow crumbling stairs, laughing or crying out as they slipped or lost their breath, racing with the sun; a very remarkable thing for Brigit Mead to be doing, as she fully appreciated. And then, at the top, high in the splendid air, the town in its greenery looking like half a dozen eggs in a green nest, asleep below them.