To the miseries which fell upon the inhabitants of Rouen during the siege, a brief reference has been made in the body of this work. The following lines, by an eye-witness, record a very pleasing circumstance indicative of Henry's piety and benevolence. The wretched inhabitants, who could contribute no aid in the defence of the town, were driven by the garrison beyond the gates with the most unmerciful hardheartedness. On Christmas-day Henry offered, in honour of the festival, to supply all the inhabitants, great and small [meste and least], with meat and drink. His offer was met very uncourteously by the garrison, and his benevolent intentions were in a great degree frustrated. The poem called "The Siege of Rouen" may now be read in the ArchÆologia, vol. xxi, with an interesting introduction by the Reverend William Conybeare.

SIEGE OF ROUEN.

"But then, within a little space,
The poor people of that same place
At every gate they were put out,
Many a hundred on a rout.
It was great pity them for to see,
How women came kneeling on their knee;
And their children also in their arms,
For to save them from harms.
And old men came kneeling them by,
And there they made a doleful cry;
And all they cried at once then,
'Have mercy on us, ye English men!'
Our men gave them some of their bread,
Though they to us were now so quede.[309]
Harm to them we did none,
But made them again to the ditch gone:
And there we kept them all abache,
Because they should not see our watch:
Many one said they would liefer be slain,
Than turn to the city of Rouen again.
They went forth with a strong murmuration,
And ever they cursed their own nation;
For the city would not let them in,
Therefore they did full great sin;
For many one died there for cold,
That might full well their life have hold.
This was at the time of Christmas:
I may you tell of a full fair case,
As of great meekness of our good King;
And also of meekness a great tokening.
Our King sent into Rouen on Christmas day,
His heralds in a rich array;
And said, because of this high feast,
Both to the meste and to the least
Within the city, and also without,
To tell, that be scanty of victuals all about,
All they to have meat and drink thereto,
And again safe-conduct to come and to go.
They said, 'Gramercy!' all lightly,
As they had set little prize thereby;
And unnese [scarcely] they would grant any grace
To the poor people that out put was,
Save to two priests, and no more them with,
For to bring meat they granted therewith;
'But an there come with you and mo [more],
Truly we will shoot you too.'
All on a row the poor people were set,
The priests come and brought them meat;
They ate and drank, and were full fain,
And thanked our King with all their main;
And as they sate, their meat to fong,
Thus they talked them among:
'O Mightiful Jesu!' they said then,
'Of tender heart is the Englishmen;
For see how this excellent King,
That we have been ever again standing;
And never would we obey him to,
Nor no homage to him would we never do;
And yet he hath on us more compassion,
Than hath our own countrymen;
And therefore, Lord Jesu, as Thou art full of mercy,
Grant him grace to win his right in hey.'[310]
And thus the poor people that time spake,
And full good tent thereto was take;
But when they had eaten and went their way,
The truce adrew, and war took his way."

groaned Madam. "And where has she picked up all that crowd of wild creatures that are screaming round the car?"

"Sure, out of ivery place as they came along," said Nancy. "Now, I'll just go down, madam, and bring the childher up to you, an' you're to sit there and not to stir, for you're shakin' all over like the ould weather-cock on a day whin the wind does be blowin' from ivery side."

Meanwhile Terry had brought the car in triumph to the door and jumped down from her perch, her yellow curls on end in the wind, her hat flapping on her back, and the fur capes of her little coat standing up straight round her ears. She threw away the reins and ran to the horse's head, putting her cheek against his nose, petting him with her hands, and pouring out flatteries enough to turn any animal's brain.

"You darling, you angel, how lovely you did run for me! Has anybody got a lump of sugar? No, well it is a shame. But I'll come to you to-morrow with lots of it."

"Miss Terry! Miss Terry! Welcome home, Miss Terry!" shrieked a chorus of shrill young voices. "Sure we run a lot of the ways with ye, Miss Terry, darlin'!"

"So you did!" cried Terry. "Wasn't it splendid?" Her little purse was in her hand in a moment. "Here is all I've got!" and she flung its contents of shillings, sixpences, and coppers among the dancing youngsters, who scrambled and wrangled for them, and finally disappeared in a headlong scamper down the avenue.

By this time Turly had got down from the car, disdaining the assistance of the women who came to moan over him.

"It's well you didn't kill your brother, Miss Terry," said Nurse Nancy severely, "and your gran'ma is anxious to know whereabouts on the road you murdhered Misther Lally."

Terry stared at her with her big blue eyes, and then burst out laughing.

"Oh, you dear, funny old Nurse!" she said; "I'm sure Granny never thought of such a thing. Why, here is Lally, dear old slowcoach! Got off to pick me some moss, and got left behind. And to think that Turly didn't know how to hold on to a car! But please take me to Gran'ma, Nursey dear, I do so want to see her!"

Granny was sitting very erect in her chair, with a face that was intended to be severe, but was only sad and frightened. The door opened and Nurse Nancy appeared with the children. Terry flew forward, but Granny waved her off, and began to address her seriously.

"Terencia Mary" (Granny's voice quavered), "what is the meaning of your behaving in this extraordinary manner?"

"Oh, Granny dear, I didn't behave, I assure you I didn't. We had such a glorious drive home, and I am so glad to see you. But oh, Granny dear, I'm afraid you are sick; you look so pale."

"No wonder if I am sick and pale at your conduct. Do they allow you to sit in the driver's seat and drive the cars at Miss Goodchild's?"

"They couldn't, Granny dear," said Terry, shaking back her bright curls, and fixing her clear eyes on the old lady's face. "They have no cars, only an omnibus to take us to the station. And I couldn't drive an omnibus, now could I, Granny?"

"And do you think——" but Terry's arms were round her Granny's neck, and the kisses of her fresh young lips were sweet on the wrinkled cheeks.

"There, there, Terry, my darling, we must talk about it another time. You won't do it again, will you, Terry?"

"I won't indeed, Granny, not if you don't like it. But do give me a huge, gigantic hug, Granny darling! And only look at Turly. Hasn't he grown fat and big! Come close up, Turly dear; Granny wants to hug you."

The hugs were given in plentiful measure and then Turly, who had been standing aside, looking rather abashed, plucked up courage and remained by Gran'ma's knee. He was a sturdily-built little fellow, with large, dark eyes and a square forehead, ordinarily rather silent and slow in his movements. The contrast between him and the light-limbed, quick-speaking Terry was remarkable, and to no one more obvious than to Turly himself, who had the most adoring admiration of his lively sister.

"Are they to have their tea in the nursery, madam?" asked Nurse Nancy, who had been standing by, a witness of Granny's attempt and failure to scold.

"No, Nancy; no! Terencia is going to be good. They must have tea with me here. Just put them into their evening clothes and bring them back to me."

After half an hour's manipulation from Nurse Nancy the children returned to Granny, who in the meanwhile had dozed in her chair, quite worn out with the fatigues of expectation, and the necessity for being angry. Nothing remained of the afternoon's excitement to Madam but the touch of fresh young lips on her cheeks, and of warm, young arms clasping her round the neck. When she opened her eyes they rested on a meek-looking little gentlewoman in a white frock, with a blue silk work-bag hanging by long blue ribbons from her arm.

"Miss Goodchild taught me to make it, Granny, and she said you would like me to have it; and I have worked you such a pretty linen cover for your prayer-book; Nancy is going to unpack it after tea. And doesn't Turly look sweet in his velvet knickers? The pockets of his other things are all gone in holes with marbles. And oh, Turly, only see what a lovely tea Granny is going to give us! Honey, jam, brown bread, hot tea-cakes! Turly is so fond of sweeties, you know, Gran'ma."

"Rather," said Turly, which was the first word he had uttered since he escaped with his life from the car.

The candles and lamps were now lighted in Granny's handsome sitting-room, and a huge turf fire burned on the hearth, for it was a wintry evening. The tea-table had been placed to one side, near Granny's chair, and as Madam laughed heartily at Terencia's prattle no one could have suggested that the coming of this bright little creature had been as a nightmare to the old lady for many weeks past.

But after the children were gone to bed Madam Trimleston said to Nancy:

"I must say a few words to Lally. Ask him to come up here and speak to me."

Very soon heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stair, and Michael Lally, the coachman, was seen standing in the doorway.

"God bless ye and good evenin' to ye, madam! It's glad I am to see you lookin' so well, madam."

"Thank you, Lally!" It was hard to begin to find fault after so genial a greeting. "But I want to ask you a question, Lally. How am I to entrust my children to your care after what happened this afternoon?"

Lally passed his big hand over the back of his head and looked puzzled, while a little smile lurked in the corners of his mouth.

"Is it in the regard of Miss Terry dhrivin' home with herself in the car, madam?" he said. "Sure I declare to your honour, madam, that I won't be the better of it for this month to come."

"The idea of your letting that child seize the reins—"

"Well now, madam, she didn't. Says she in her coaxin' way: 'Lally,' says she, 'just let me sit on your seat and hold the reins, and you can be watchin' me,' says she. 'Sure,' says she, 'many's the time I drove my pappy,' says she, 'when I was over there in Africa,' says she, 'and he did used to be delighted with me, seein' me at it,' says she. An' I couldn't stand her coaxin', and I just pleased her, till all of a suddent she took a fancy to some moss that was growin' in the dyke. And nothin' would do her but I was to get down and gather it for her, and the next thing was she had jaunted off with herself and was lookin' back laughin' at me."

"I know; I know her way," said Madam. "Lally, I intended to give you such a scolding as you could never forget, but I see it's no use. I can only implore of you not to give in to Miss Terry's coaxing again, no matter what the consequences." And then Granny paused, remembering those kisses on her cheek and those arms round her neck.

"We must try to control her," she said, "or her wild daring will cost us her life."

"God forbid, madam!" said Lally.

"You have had a long, cold journey to-day. Have you had a good supper, Lally?"

"Sorra bit could I ate, madam, till I had a word with yourself. But anyhow I'll go and ate it now."

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