“Alas,” said he, “what shall I do!  Shall I go to my lady, and pray her pity on the wretch who has none to give him counsel?  If she refuse my prayer, because of her hardness and pride, I shall know there is nought for me but to die in my sorrow, or, at least, to go heavily all the days of my life.”

Then he sighed, and in his sighing lighted on a better purpose; for he said within himself that doubtless he was born to suffer, and that the best of him was tears.  All the long night he spent in vigil and groanings and watchfulness.  To himself he told over her words and her semblance.  He remembered the eyes and the fair mouth of his lady, and all the grace and the sweetness, which had struck like a knife at his heart.  Between his teeth he cried on her for pity, and for a little more would have called her to his side.  Ah, had he but known the fever of the lady, and how terrible a lord to her was Love, how great had been his joy and solace.  His visage would have been the more sanguine, which was now so pale of colour, because of the dolour that was his.  But if the knight was sick by reason of his love, the dame had small cause to boast herself of health.  The lady rose early from her bed, since she might not sleep.  She complained of her unrest, and of Love who rode her so hardly.  The maiden, who was of her company, saw clearly enough that all her lady’s thoughts were set upon the knight, who, for his healing, sojourned in the chamber.  She did not know whether his thoughts were given again to the dame.  When, therefore, the lady had entered in the chapel, the damsel went straightway to the knight.  He welcomed her gladly, and bade her be seated near the bed.  Then he inquired, “Friend, where now is my lady, and why did she rise so early from her bed?”

Having spoken so far, he became silent, and sighed.

“Sir,” replied the maiden softly, “you love, and are discreet, but be not too discreet therein.  In such a love as yours there is nothing to be ashamed.  He who may win my lady’s favour has every reason to be proud of his fortune.  Altogether seemly would be your friendship, for you are young, and she is fair.”

The knight made answer to the maiden, “I am so fast in the snare, that I pray the fowler to slay me, if she may not free me from the net.  Counsel me, fair sweet friend, if I may hope of kindness at her hand.”

Then the maiden of her sweetness comforted the knight, and assured him of all the good that she was able.  So courteous and debonair was the maid.

When the lady had heard Mass, she hastened back to the chamber.  She had not forgotten her friend, and greatly she desired to know whether he was awake or asleep, of whom her heart was fain.  She bade her maiden to summon him to her chamber, for she had a certain thing in her heart to show him at leisure, were it for the joy or the sorrow of their days.