“Sir,” replied Messire Thibault, “I am only a beggar, but so help me God, of all the jewels in your crown I love and covet none, save only my demoiselle, your daughter.”

When he heard this thing the Count had great content.  He laughed in his heart and said,

“Thibault, I will grant her to the beggar, if it be to her mind.”

“Sir,” answered he, “thanks and gramercy.  May God make it up to you.”

Then went the Count to his daughter, and said,

“Fair daughter, I have promised you in marriage, so it go not against your heart.”

“Sir,” inquired the maid, “to whom?”

“In the name of God, to a loyal man, and a true man, of whom much is hoped; to a knight of my own household, Thibault of Dommare.”

“Dear sir,” answered the maiden sweetly, “if your county were a kingdom, and I were the king’s only child, I would choose him as my husband, and gladly give him all that I had.”

“Daughter,” said the Count, “blessed be your pretty person, and the hour that you were born.”

Thus was this marriage made.  The Count of Ponthieu and the Count of St. Pol were at the feast, and many another honourable man besides.  Great was the joy in which they met, fair was the worship, and marvellous the delight.  The bride and groom lived together in all happiness for five years.  This was their only sorrow, that it pleased not our Lord Jesus Christ that they should have an heir to their flesh.

On a night Sir Thibault lay in his bed.  He considered within himself and said,

“Lord, whence cometh it that I love this dame so fondly, and she me, yet we may have no heir of our bodies to serve God and to do a little good in the world?”

Then he remembered my lord St. James, the Apostle of Spain, who gives to the fervent supplicant that which rightly he desires.  Earnestly, to his own heart, he promised that he would walk a pilgrim in his way.  His wife lay sleeping at his side, but when she came from out her sleep, he took her softly in his arms, and required of her that she would bestow on him a gift.

“Sir,” said the lady, “what gift would you have?”

“Wife,” he made answer, “that you shall know when it is mine.”

“Husband,” said she, “if it be mine to grant, I will give it you, whatever the price.”

“Wife,” he said, “I pray you to grant me leave to seek my lord St. James the Apostle, that he may intercede with our Lord Jesus Christ to bestow on us an heir of our flesh, whereby God may be served in this world and Holy Church glorified.”

“Sir,” cried the lady, “sweet and dear it is that you should crave such bounty, and I grant the permission you desire right willingly.”

Deep and long was the tenderness that fell betwixt these twain.  Thus passed a day, and another day, and yet a third.  On this third day it chanced that they lay together in their bed, and it was night.  Then said the dame,