The next day came a summons from the convent of the Grey Sisters that
Mistress Griselda was to attend the Duchess Isabel.
She longed to fly through the air, but her limbs trembled. Indeed,
she shook so that she could not stand still nor walk slowly. She
hurried on so that the lay sister who had been sent for her was quite
out of breath, and panted after her within gasps of "Stay! stay,
mistress! No bear is after us! She runs as though a mad ox had got
loose!"
Her heart was wild enough for anything! She might have to hear from
her kind Duchess that all was vain and unnoticed.
Up the stair she went, to the accustomed chamber, where an additional
chair was on the dais under the canopy, the half circle of ladies as
usual, but before she had seen more with her dazzled, swimming eyes,
even as she rose from her first genuflection, she found herself in a
pair of soft arms, kisses rained on her cheeks and brow, and there
was a tender cry in her own tongue of "My Grisell! my dear old
Grisell! I have found you at last! Oh! that was good in you. I
knew the forget-me-nots, and all your little devices. Ah!" as
Grisell, unable to speak for tears of joy, held up the pouncet box,
the childish gift.
The soft pink velvet bodice girdled and clasped with diamonds was
pressed to her, the deep hanging silken sleeves were round her, the
white satin broidered skirt swept about her feet, the pearl-edged
matronly cap on the youthful head leant fondly against her, as
Margaret led her up, still in her embrace, and cried, "It is she, it
is she! Dear belle mere, thanks indeed for bringing us together!"
The Countess of Poitiers looked on scandalised at English
impulsiveness, and the elder Duchess herself looked for a moment
stiff, as her lace-maker slipped to her knees to kiss her hand and
murmur her thanks.
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