Noel waved aside importunacy.
"Pass your ways, pilgrim. I am in no mood for motley."
He turned away, but the persistent pilgrim followed him.
"Are you in a maid's mood, or a mood for a maid?"
Noel stopped impatiently.
"Are you pander as well as pilgrim? I wait for a woman."
The pilgrim's pertinacity was not to be baffled.
"Is she tall or short, young or old, dark or fair, sweet or sour?"
Noel answered whimsically:
"She is of the colour of the chameleon, of the age of the ancient
world, of the height of any man's heart, and as bitter-sweet as a
crushed quince."
The girl pulled off her mask and threw back her hood.
"Is she of my feet, favour, years and savour?"
The moment he saw her face Noel gave a cry of delight.
"You are welcome, witch," he shouted, "for you. bring the best love
in the world!"
He sprang to catch the girl in his arms, but she repulsed him
gently.
"Hush! I am no love-monger now, no gallantry girl, but a most
politic plotter. The world spins like a potter's wheel to shape the
vessel of our enterprise. We have a wizard ready for your king. Will
Louis come?"
Noel nodded decisively.
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