Beatrix fell back a
step and drew anxious breath, for it was no small thing to cross words
boldly with the sovereign next in power to the Emperor himself. And at
the first, the seething blood hissed in the Queen's ears, and her
lovely face grew ashy pale, and her wrath rose in her eyes with the red
shadow of coming revenge. But no manlike impulse moved her hand nor her
foot, and she stood motionless, with half her mantle gathered round
her. In the fierce silence, the two faced each other, while Beatrix
looked on, half sick with fear. Neither moved an eyelash, nor did the
glance of either flinch, till it seemed as if a spell had bound them
there forever, motionless, under the changing shadows of the leaves,
only their hair stirring in the cool wind. Eleanor knew that no man had
ever thus faced her before. For a few moments she felt the absolute
confidence in herself which had never failed her yet; the certainty of
strength which drove the King to take refuge from her behind a barrier
of devotion and prayer; the insolence of wit and force against which
the holy man of Clairvaux had never found a weapon of thought or
speech. And still the hard Norman eyes were colder and angrier than her
own, and still the man's head was high, and his face like a mask. At
last she felt her lids tremble, and her lips quiver; his face moved
strangely in her sight, his cold resistance hurt her as if she were
thrusting herself uselessly against a rock; she knew that he was
stronger than she, and that she loved him.
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