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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 161

bower inwoven with myrtle avid eglantine, a beautiful fe-male kneeling before a crucifix hung with votive offerings. Her face was exquisitely fair, and her eyes raised to the holy symbol seemed to borrow their hue from the heavens above. A soft bloom suffused her cheek, and her coral lips parted in prayer revealed her pearly teeth. The delicate contour of her finely rounded throat and bust wore dis-played by her posture, and one dimpled shoulder was visi-ble through the wavy masses of bright hair that enveloped her figure, as though the light of the golden sunset lingered lovingly about her. An infant, fairer if possible than the mother, with eyes of the same heavenly hue, lay by her side. He had drawn one tiny slipper from his foot, and delighted with his prize laughed in every feature and seemed crowing an accompaniment to her words. Startled by the sound of footsteps, the mother turned, and meeting the dark menacing gaze of Eleanor, snatched up the baby-boy, which clasped its little hands and looked up in her face, instinctively suiting the action of entreaty to the smile of confident affection. The elder boy before unnoticed advanced as if in doubt, whether to grieve or frown. The deep earnest gaze of his hazel eyes and his soft brown hair, clearly indicated his Norman extraction, and when he passed his arm half-fearfully, half-protectingly around his mother's neck, and the eloquent blood mounted to his cheek'Eleanor recognized the princely bearing of the Plantagenets. " False woman," said she, darting forward and confront-ing the trembling mother with flashing eyes, " thou art the paramour of King Henry, and these your base-born pro-geny." To the paleness of terror succeeded the flush of in-dignation not unmingled with the crimson hue of shame, as the fair creature raised her head and repelled the accusation. " Rosamond de Clifford is not King Henry's paramour. My lord is the Duke of Maine ; and when he returns from the wars will acknowledge his babeé before the nobles of the land." "Aye, the Duke of Maine," retorted Eleanor, in scornful 170 HEROINES OF THE CRUSADES.

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