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BLOSS C.A. Heroines of the Crusades


Sir John Froissart's Chronicles of England, France, Spain and the Ajoining Countries from the latter part of the reign of Edward II to the coronation of Henry IV in 12 volumes 

Chronicles of Enguerrand De Monstrelet (Sir John Froissart's Chronicles continuation) in 13 volumes 

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Heroines of the Crusades
page 63

Adela comprehending the hopeless defect of a character, that not even a crown could stimulate to promptitude, per-suaded him to accept the terms of the treaty. As the splendid cortege attendant upon the Countess of Blois, and her young sons Thibaut, Stephen and Henry, Bwept along the great road from Chartres to Blois, the green arcades of a beautiful grove stretching down to the brink of a small stream that rolled its clear waters to the Loire, invited them to rest during the noontide hours. "With loosened rein the steeds wandered at will cropping the tender herbage, or slaked their thirst in the rippling brook; while reposing upon the greensward, the. party made a refreshing repast. The children, left to the unre-strained indulgence of their boyish glee, gathered wild flowers for their mother, hallooed to the echoes of the wood, or pursued each other along the banks of the stream. Allured by the sound of their happy voices, the countess left the company and stole after them, catching occasional glimpes of their dancing plumes, as they bounded on before her, till coming to an opening in the glen, she stopped be-fore an antique crucifix that some pious hand had reared upon the verge of a fountain. Occupied with the sweet thoughts suggested by the place, she scarcely noted the ab-sence of her children, till the little Henry* pulling her by the robe exclaimed with a face all radiant with joy, " This way ma mère, Thibaut says we've found a hermit's cell, and Stephen is talking with the hermit." Yielding to his im-petuosity the countess hastened forward and discovered sitting at the entrance of a sylvan lodge, just where the shadow of the cross fell longest at sunset, a youthful saint, if saint he was, reading his breviary, and telling his beads with affected sanctity. " Beauclerk !" said the countess after a scrutinizing gaze at his half-concealed features. " Thou knowest me then," said the pretended monk, in a tone of bitter reproach, rising and throwing off his gray 70 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

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