In the meantime, the cry went through all the country that Nicolette was lost.  Some said that she had gone away; others that Count Garin had put her to death.  If any man had joy in the news, that man was not Aucassin.  His father let him out of prison, and summoned all the knights and ladies of the land to a great feast that he made to comfort his young son.  But when the revelry was at its height, there was Aucassin leaning despondently from a gallery, sorrowful and utterly downcast.  And an old knight saw him, and came to him.

“Aucassin,” he said, “there was a time when I, too, was sick with the sickness that you have.  If you will trust me, I will give you some good counsel.”

“Gramercy,” answered Aucassin.  “Good counsel is indeed a precious thing.”

“Mount your horse and ride into the forest,” said the old knight.  “You will see the flowers and the sweet herbs, and hear the birds singing.  And, perchance, you may also hear a word that will take away your sickness.”

“Gramercy,” said Aucassin.  “That is what I will do.”

He stole out of the hall, and went to the stable, and bridled and saddled his horse, and rode swiftly out into the forest.  By the fountain he found the herd-boys.  They had spread a cloak out on the grass, and were eating their bread and making merry.

    Jolly herd-boys, every one: 
    Martin, Emery, and John,
    Aubrey, Oliver, and Matt
    By the fountain-side they sat. 
    “Here,” said John, “comes Aucassin,
    Son of our good Count Garin. 
    Faith, he is a handsome boy! 
    Let us wish him luck and joy.” 
    “And the girl with yellow hair
    Wandering in the forest there,”
    Aubrey said.  “She gave us more
    Gold than we have seen before. 
    Say, what shall we go and buy?”
    “Cakes!” said greedy Emery. 
    “Flutes and bagpipes!” Johnny said. 
    “No,” cried Martin; “knives instead! 
    Knives and swords!  Then we can go
    Out to war and fight the foe.”

“Sweet boys,” said Aucassin, as he rode up to them, “sing again the song that you were singing just now, I pray you.”

“We will not,” said Aubrey, who had a readier tongue than the others.

“Do you not know me, then?” said Aucassin.

“Yes,” said Aubrey.  “You are our young lord, Aucassin.  But we are not your men, but the count’s.”

“Sweet boys, sing it again, I pray you,” said Aucassin.

“God’s heart!” cried Aubrey.  “Why should I sing for you, if I do not want to?  There is no man in this country—­save Count Garin—­that dare drive my cattle from his fields and corn-lands, if I put them there.  He would lose his eyes for it, no matter how rich he were.  So, now, why should I sing for you, if I do not want to?”

“In the name of God,” said Aucassin, “take these ten sous, and sing it!”

“Sir, I will take your money,” said Aubrey, “but I will not sing you anything.  Still, if you like, I will tell you something.”