“I pledge my faith that I will love you all the days of my life, never on any day seeking to do you a mischief, for you have told me the very truth, and have not lied to me by a single word.”

“Sire,” he made answer, “thanks and gramercy.  But for the love of God I require and pray of you that it be your pleasure to hide this counsel; for I should lose my love, and the peace and comfort of my life—­yea, and should die without sin of my own, if I deemed that any other in this realm than yourself knew aught of the business.”

“Now speak of it never,” replied the Duke.  “Know that the counsel shall be kept so hidden, that by me shall not a syllable be spoken.”

On this covenant they came again whence they had set forth together.  That day, when men sat at meat, the Duke showed to his knight a friendlier semblance and a fairer courtesy than ever he had done before.  The Duchess felt such wrath and despitefulness at this, that—­without any leasing—­she rose from the table, and making pretence of sudden sickness, went to lie upon her bed, where she found little softness.  When the Duke had eaten and washed and made merry, he afterwards sought his wife’s chamber, and causing her to be seated on her bed, commanded that none should remain, save himself.  So all men went forth at his word, even as he had bidden.  Thereupon the Duke inquired of the lady how this evil had come to her, and of what she was sick.  She made answer,

“As God hears me, never till I ate at table did I deem that you had so little sense or decency, as when I saw you making much of him, who, I have told you already, strove to bring shame and disgrace on me.  When I watched you entreat him with more favour than even was your wont, such great sorrow and such great anger took hold on me, that I could not contain myself in the hall.”

“Sweet friend,” replied the Duke, “know that I shall never believe—­either from your lips or from those of any creature in the world—­that the story ever happened as you rehearsed it.  I am so deep in his counsel that he has my quittance, for I have full assurance that he never dreamed of such a deed.  But as to this you must ask of me no more.”

The Duke went straightway from the chamber, leaving the lady sunk in thought.  However long she had to live, never might she know an hour’s comfort, till she had learnt something of that secret of which the Duke forbade her to seek further.  No denial could now stand in her way, for in her heart swiftly she devised a means to unriddle this counsel, so only she might endure until the evening, and the Duke was in her arms.  She was persuaded that, beyond doubt, such solace would win her wish more surely than wrath or tears.  For this purpose she held herself coy, and when the Duke came to lie at her side she betook herself to the further side of the bed, making semblance that his company gave her no pleasure.  Well she knew that such show of anger was the device to put her lord beneath her feet.  Therefore she turned her back upon him, that the Duke might the more easily be drawn by the cords of her wrath.  For this same reason when he had no more than kissed her, she burst out,