Margaret had been used to walking, but it was all within parks and pleasances, and she was not at all used to being pushed about and jostled. Linette knew how to make her way far better, and it was well for them that their dark dresses and hoods and Linette’s elderly face gave the idea of their being votaresses of some sacred order, and so secured them from actual personal insult; but as they clung together they were thrust aside and pushed about, while the throng grew thicker, the streets narrower, the storm heavier, the air more stifling and unsavoury.
A sudden rush nearly knocked them down, driving them under a gargoyle, whose spout was streaming with wet, and completed the drenching; but there was a porch and an open door of a church close behind, and into this Linette dragged her mistress. Dripping, breathless, bruised, she leant against a pillar, not going forward, for others, much more gaily dressed, had taken refuge there, and were chattering away, for little reverence was paid at that date to the sanctity of buildings.
‘Will the King be there, think you?’ eagerly asked a young girl, who had been anxiously wiping the wet from her pink kirtle.
‘Certes--he is to give the prizes,’ replied a portly dame in crimson.
‘And the Lady of Beauty? I long to see her.’
‘Her beauty is passing--except that which was better worth the solid castle the King gave her,’ laughed the stout citizen, who seemed to be in charge of them.
‘The Dauphiness, too--will she be there?’
‘Ah, the Dauphiness!’ said the elder woman, with a meaning sound and shake of the head.
‘Scandal--evil tongues!’ growled the man.
‘Nay, Master Jerome, there’s no denying it, for a merchant of Bourges told me. She runs about the country on foot, like no discreet woman, let alone a princess, with a good-for-nothing minstrel after her. Ah, you may grunt and make signs, but I had it from the Countess de Craylierre’s own tirewoman, who came for a bit of lace, that the Dauphin is about to the Sire Jamet de Tillay caught her kissing the minstrel on a bench in the garden at Nanci.’
‘I would not trust the Sire de Tillay’s word. He is in debt to every merchant of the place--a smooth-tongued deceiver. Belike he is bribed to defame the poor lady, that the Dauphin may rid himself of a childless wife.’