And for motto were
these words: "_Si Dieu volt, ie vueil_."
Little by little, from having seen him piercing the monster with
his lance, whilst the king's daughter raised her clasped hands in
supplication, Angelique became enamoured of Saint George. He was her
hero. At the distance where she was she could not well distinguish the
figures, and she looked at them as if in the aggrandisement of a dream;
the young girl was slight, was a blonde, and, in short, had a face not
unlike her own, while the saint was frank and noble looking, with the
beauty of an archangel. It was as if she herself had just been saved,
and she could have kissed his hands with gratitude. And to this
adventure, of which she dreamed confusedly, of a meeting on the border
of a lake and of being rescued from a great danger by a young man more
beautiful than the day, was added the recollection of her excursion
to the Chateau of Hautecoeur, and a calling up to view of the feudal
donjon, in its original state, peopled with the noble lords of olden
times.
The arms glistened like the stars on summer nights; she knew them well,
she read them easily, with their sonorous words, for she was so in the
habit of embroidering heraldic symbols.
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