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Updated: May 19, 2025
Reinault informed his sister of his decision; she wept a little, but did not refuse to comply. So Adhelmar, come again to Puysange after five years' absence, found Melite troth-plighted, fast and safe, to Hugues. Reinault told him. Adhelmar grumbled and bit his nails in a corner, for a time; then laughed shortly. "I have loved Melite," he said. "It may be that I love her still.
He would sell France, you observe, chaffered, they tell me, like a pedlar over the price of Normandy. Heh, the huckster, the triple-damned Jew!" "And Melite?" asked Adhelmar, after a little. Again Reinault shrugged. "In the White Turret," he said; then, with a short laugh: "Oy Dieus, yes! The girl has been caterwauling for this shabby rogue all day.
In the main hall he found the vicomte still sitting over his wine of Anjou. "Cousin," said Adhelmar, "I must ride hence to-night." Reinault stared at him: a mastering wonder woke in Reinault's face. "Ta, ta, ta!" he clicked his tongue, very softly. Afterward he sprang to his feet and clutched Adhelmar by both arms. "No, no!" Reinault cried. "No, Adhelmar, you must not try that!
So the new day found them. "Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?" In the chapel at Puysange you may still see the tomb of Adhelmar; but Melite's bones lie otherwhere. "Her heart was changeable," as old Nicolas says, justly enough; and so in due time it was comforted.
She was very tired, by that day-long arguing with her brother's notions about honor and knightly faith and such foolish matters, and to her weariness Adhelmar seemed strength incarnate; surely he, if any one, could aid Hugues and bring him safe out of the grim marshal's claws.
Nevertheless, he came to finish his debate with the Sieur d'Arques, wound or no wound. But at Puysange he heard a strange tale of Hugues. Reinault, whom Adhelmar found in a fine rage, told the story as they sat over their supper.
In any event, the following is, with certain compressions and omissions that have seemed desirable, the last episode of the Aventures. The tale concerns the children of Florian and Sylvie: and for it I may claim, at least, the same merit that old Nicolas does at the very outset; since as he veraciously declares yet with a smack of pride: The Episode Called Adhelmar at Puysange I. April-magic
"But do you in truth love Hugues?" asked Adhelmar, in a harsh voice. "Yes," said Melite, very softly, and afterward flushed and wondered dimly if she had spoken the truth. Then, somehow, her arms clasped about Adhelmar's neck, and she kissed him, from pure pity, as she told herself; for Melite's heart was tender, and she could not endure the anguish in his face. This was all very well.
"Her eyes," said Adhelmar, and his voice shook, and his hands, lifting a little, trembled, "her eyes were large and very bright and of a color like that of the June sunlight falling upon deep waters. Her hair was of a curious gold color like the Fleece that the knight Jason sought, and it curled marvellously about her temples.
Hugues conceded that, perforce, he must wait, since a vow was sacred; and Adhelmar, who suspected Hugues' natural appetite for battle to be lamentably squeamish, grinned. After that, in a sick rage, Adhelmar struck Hugues in the face, and turned about. The Sieur d'Arques rubbed his cheek ruefully.
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