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Updated: May 9, 2025
In the first relaxation of Lent she had instinctively welcomed an opportunity for spiritual consolation and a chance to take her spiritual bearings; not because of bodily fatigue for in the splendour of her youthful vigour she did not know what that meant. Saint Berold was a pretty good saint, and his church was patronised by Major Belwether's household.
He said, 'I am a nobleman, GODFREY by name, the son of GILBERT DE L'AIGLE. And you? said he. 'I am BEROLD, a poor butcher of Rouen, was the answer. Then, they said together, 'Lord be merciful to us both! and tried to encourage one another, as they drifted in the cold benumbing sea on that unfortunate November night.
"Only two of us, out of all that gallant company!" said one of these in despairing tones. "Who are you, friend and comrade?" "I am a nobleman, Godfrey, the son of Gilbert de L'Aigle. And you?" he asked. "I am Berold, a poor butcher of Rouen," was the answer. "God be merciful to us both!" they then cried together.
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