Dame Blanch seemed undisposed to mirth.  “We have slain the stag, beau sire,” she said, “and have made of his death a brave diversion.  To-day we have had our sport of death,—­and presently the gay years wind past us, as our cavalcade came toward the stag, and God’s incurious angel slays us, much as we slew the stag.  And we shall not understand, and we shall wonder, as the stag did, in helpless wonder.  And Death will have his sport of us, as if in atonement.”  Her big eyes shone, as when the sun glints upon a sand-bottomed pool.  “Ohe, I have known such happiness of late, beau sire, that I am hideously afraid to die.”

The King answered, “I too have been very happy of late.”

“But it is profitless to talk about death thus drearily.  Let us flout him, instead, with some gay song.”  And thereupon she handed Sire Edward a lute.

The King accepted it.  “Death is not reasonably mocked by any person,” Sire Edward said, “since in the end he conquers, and of the lips that gibed at him remains but a little dust.  Rather should I, who already stand beneath a lifted sword, make for my destined and inescapable conqueror a Sirvente, which is the Song of Service.”

Sang Sire Edward:[3]

  “I sing of Death, that comes unto the king,
  And lightly plucks him from the cushioned throne;
  And drowns his glory and his warfaring
  In unrecorded dim oblivion;
  And girds another with the sword thereof;
  And sets another in his stead to reign;
  And ousts the remnant, nakedly to gain
  Styx’ formless shore and nakedly complain
  Midst twittering ghosts lamenting life and love.

   “For Death is merciless:  a crack-brained king
  He raises in the place of Prester John,
  Smites Priam, and mid-course in conquering
  Bids Caesar pause; the wit of Salomon,
  The wealth of Nero and the pride thereof,
  And battle-prowess—­or of Tamburlaine
  Darius, Jeshua, or Charlemaigne,—­
  Wheedle and bribe and surfeit Death in vain,
  And get no grace of him nor any love.

  “Incuriously he smites the armored king
  And tricks his counsellors—­”

“True, O God!” murmured the tiny woman, who sat beside the window yonder.  With that, Dame Meregrett rose, and passed from the room.

The two lovers started, and laughed, and afterward paid little heed to her outgoing.  Sire Edward had put aside the lute and sat now regarding the Princess.  His big left hand propped the bearded chin; his grave countenance was flushed, and his intent eyes shone under their shaggy brows, very steadily, although the left eye was now so nearly shut as to reveal the merest spark.

Irresolutely, Dame Blanch plucked at her gown; then rearranged a fold of it, and with composure awaited the ensuing action, afraid at bottom, but not at all ill-pleased; and she looked downward.

The King said:  “Never before were we two alone, madame.  Fate is very gracious to me this morning.”