“Alas!” she cried, “that my dear lord should suffer in such straits.  In God’s mercy, madame, I pray you let him go!  Loyal service hath he done for you, such as no other in the kingdom.”

“Loyal service, I trow,” replied the princess.  “He hath brought such shame upon my Court that for ever am I dishonoured.  It may not be that I let him go, without you give him back his word and bid him forth to Broye.”

“And that will I never do,” replied Solita, “for all your cruelty.”

So the princess turned her away and gat her from the hall, but Solita remained with her lord, making moan and easing his fetters with her hands as best she might.  Hence it fell out that she who should have comforted must needs be comforted herself, and that the Sieur Rudel did right willingly.

The like, he would say to me, hath often happened to him since, and when he was harassed with sore distress he must needs turn him about to stop a woman’s tears; for which he thanked God most heartily, and prayed that so it might ever be, since thus he clean forgot his own sad plight.  Whence, meseems, may men understand how noble a gentleman was my good lord the Sieur Rudel.

Now when the night was well spent and drawing on to dawn, Solita, for very weariness, fell asleep at the pillar’s foot, and Rudel began to take counsel with himself if, by any manner of means, he might outwit the Princess Joceliande.  For this he saw, that she would not have him wed her handmaiden, and for that cause, and for no cowardice of his, had so cruelly entreated him.  And when he had pondered a little with himself, he bent and touched Solita with his hands, and called to her in a low voice.

“Solita,” he said, “it is in Joceliande’s heart to keep us twain each from other.  Rise, therefore, and get thee to the good abbot who baptised thee.  Ever hath he stood my friend, and for friendship’s sake this thing he will do.  Bring him hither into the hall, that he may marry us even this night, and when the morning comes I will tell the princess of our marriage; and so will she know that her cruelty is of small avail, and release me unto thee.”

Thereupon Solita rose right joyously.

“Surely, my dear lord,” said she, “no man can match thee, neither in craft nor prowess,” and she hurried through the dark passages towards the lodging of the abbot.  Hard by this lodging was the chapel of the castle, and when she came thereto the windows were ablaze with light, and Solita clapped her ear to the door.  But no sound did she hear, no, not so much as the stirring of a mouse, and bethinking her that the good abbot might be holding silent vigil, she gently pressed upon the door, so that it opened for the space of an inch; and when she looked into the chapel, she beheld the Princess Joceliande stretched upon the steps before the altar.  Her coronet had fallen from her head and rolled across the stones, and she lay like one that had fallen asleep in the