qualified by a blush of modesty at once and pleasure. And then the feelings of
the younger Countess, when compelled to hold the kerchief to the wound, while
her aunt sought in their baggage for some vulnerary remedy, were mingled at once
with a sense of delicacy and embarrassment; a thrill of pity for the patient,
and of gratitude for his services, which exaggerated, in her eyes, his good mien
and handsome features. In short, this incident seemed intended by Fate to
complete the mysterious communication which she had, by many petty and
apparently accidental circumstances, established betwixt two persons, who,
though far different in rank and fortune, strongly resembled each other in
youth, beauty, and the romantic tenderness of an affectionate disposition. It
was no wonder, therefore, that from this moment the thought of the Countess
Isabelle, already so familiar to his imagination, should become paramount in
Quentin's bosom, nor that, if the maiden's feelings were of a less decided
character, at least so far as known to herself, she should think of her young
defender, to whom she had just rendered a service so interesting, with more
emotion than of any of the whole band of high-born nobles who had for two years
past besieged her with their adoration. Above all, when the thought of
Campo-basso, the unworthy favourite of Duke Charles, with his hypocritical mien,
his base, treacherous spirit, his wry neck, and his squint, occurred to her, his
portrait was more disgustingly hideous than ever, and deeply did she resolve no
tyranny should make her enter into so hateful a union.
    In the meantime, whether the good Lady Hameline of Croye understood and
admired masculine beauty as much as when she was fifteen years younger (for the
good Countess was at least thirty-five, if the records of that noble house speak
the truth), or whether she thought she had done their young protector less
justice than she ought, in the first view which she had taken of his services,
it is certain that he began to find favour in her eyes.
    »My niece,« she said, »has bestowed on you a kerchief for the binding of
your wound; I will give you one to grace your gallantry, and to encourage you in
your farther progress in chivalry.«
    So saying, she gave him a richly embroidered kerchief of blue and silver,
and pointing to the housing of her palfrey, and the plumes in her riding-
desired him to observe that the colours were the same.
    The fashion of the time prescribed one absolute mode of