“And yet, perchance, he would not die for you, whereas men die for
    me daily, and from mere obedience.  How is he called?”

“Madame,” she replied, “I may not tell you, for all my pride in him.  ’Twill be for my lord to answer you in his good time.  But that he would die for me, if need there were, I have no doubt.  For I have looked into his eyes and read his soul.”

So she spake with much spirit, upholding Sieur Rudel; but Joceliande was sorely grieved for that Solita would not trust her with her lover’s name, and answered bitterly: 

“And his soul which you did see was doubtless your own image.  And thus it will be with the next maiden who looks into his eyes.  Her own image will she see, and she will go away calling it his soul, and not knowing, poor fool, that it has already faded from his eyes.”

At this Solita kept silence, deeming it unnecessary to make reply.  It might be as the princess said with other men and other women, but the Sieur Rudel had no likeness to other men, and in possessing the Sieur Rudel’s love she was far removed from other women.  Therefore did she keep silence, but Joceliande fancied that she was troubled by the words which she had spoken, and straightway repented her of them.

“Nay, child,” she said, and she laid her hand again upon Solita’s head.  “Take not the speech to heart.  ’Tis but the plaint of a woman whose hair is withered from its brightness and who grows peevish in her loneliness.  But open your mind to me, for you have twined about my heart even as your curls did but now twine and coil about my wrist, and the more for this pretty vanity of yours.  Therefore tell me his name, that I may advance him.”

But once more Solita did fob her off, and the princess would no longer question her, but turned her wearily to the window.

“All day long,” she said, “I listen to soft speeches and honeyed tongues, and all night long I listen to the breakers booming upon the sands, and in truth I wot not which sound is the more hollow.”

Such was the melancholy and sadness of her voice that the tears sprang into Solita’s eyes and ran down her cheeks for very pity of Joceliande.

“Think not I fail in love to you, sweet princess,” she cried.  “But I may not tell you, though I would be blithe and proud to name him.  But ’tis for him to claim me of you, and I must needs wait his time.”

But Joceliande would not be comforted, and chiding her roughly, sent her to her chamber.  So Solita departed out of her sight, her heart heavy with a great pity, though little she understood of Joceliande’s distress.  For this she could not know:  that at the sight of her white beauty the Princess Joceliande was ashamed.