There are divers men who make a great show of loyalty, and pretend to such discretion in the hidden things they hear, that at the end folk come to put faith in them.  When by their false seeming they have persuaded the simple to open out to them their love and their deeds, then they noise the matter about the country, and make it their song and their mirth.  Thus it chances that the lesser joy is his who has bared to them his heart.  For the sweeter the love, the more bitter is the pang that lovers know, when each deems the other to have bruited abroad the secret he should conceal.  Oftentimes these blabbers do such mischief with their tongue, that the love they spoil comes to its close in sorrow and in care.  This indeed happened in Burgundy to a brave and worthy knight, and to the Lady of Vergi.  This knight loved his lady so dearly that she granted him her tenderness, on such covenant as this—­that the day he showed her favour to any, that very hour he would lose the love and the grace she bestowed on him.  To seal this bond they devised together that the knight should come a days to an orchard, at such hour as seemed good to his friend.  He must remain coy in his nook within the wall till he might see the lady’s lapdog run across the orchard.  Then without further tarrying he should enter her chamber, knowing full well she was alone, whom so fondly he desired to greet.  This he did, and in this fashion they met together for a great while, none being privy to their sweet and stolen love, save themselves alone.

The knight was courteous and fair, and by reason of his courage was right welcome to that Duke who was lord of Burgundy.  He came and went about the Court, and that so often that the Duchess set her mind upon him.  She cared so little to hide her thought, that had his heart not been in another’s keeping, he must surely have perceived in her eyes that she loved him.  But however tender her semblance the knight showed no kindness in return, for he marked nothing of her inclination.  Passing troubled was the dame that he should treat her thus; so that on a day she took him apart, and sought to make him of her counsel.

“Sir, as men report, you are a brave and worthy knight, for the which give God thanks.  It would not be more than your deserts, if you had for friend a lady in so high a place that her love would bring to you both honour and profit.  How richly could such a lady serve you!”

“Lady,” said he, “I have never yet had this in my thought.”

“By my faith,” she answered, “it seems to me that the longer you wait, the less is your hope.  Perchance the lady will stoop very readily from her throne, if you but kneel at her knee.”

The knight replied, “Lady, by my faith, I know little why you speak such words, and I understand their meaning not at all.  I am neither duke nor count to dare to set my love in so high a seat.  There is nought in me to gain the love of so sovereign a dame, pain me how I may.”