At supper-time, in order to show courtesy to the foreign knight, the king took care to place him near the queen, to whom the gallant Gauttier offered his arm, to take her into the room, and conducted her there hastily, to get ahead of those who were following, in order to whisper, first of all, a word concerning a subject which always pleases the ladies in whatever condition they may be.  Imagine what this word was, and how it went straight through the stubble and weeds into the warm thicket of love.

“I know, your majesty, what causes your paleness of face.”

“What?” said she.

“You are so loving that the king loves you night and day; thus you abuse your advantage, for he will die of love.”

“What should I do to keep him alive?” said the queen.

“Forbid him to repeat at your altar more than three prayers a day.”

“You are joking, after the French fashion, Sir Knight, seeing that the king’s devotion to me does not extend beyond a short prayer a week.”

“You are deceived,” said Gauttier, seating himself at the table.  “I can prove to you that love should go through the whole mass, matins, and vespers, with an Ave now and then, for queens as for simple women, and go through the ceremony every day, like the monks in their monastery, with fervour; but for you these litanies should never finish.”

The queen cast upon the knight a glance which was far from one of displeasure, smiled at him, and shook her head.

“In this,” said she, “men are great liars.”

“I have with me a great truth which I will show you when you wish it.” replied the knight.  “I undertake to give you queen’s fare, and put you on the high road to joy; by this means you will make up for lost time, the more so as the king is ruined through other women, while I shall reserve my advantage for your service.”

“And if the king learns of our arrangement, he will put your head on a level with your feet.”

“Even if this misfortune befell me it after the first night, I should believe I had lived a hundred years, from the joy therein received, for never have I seen, after visiting all Courts, a princess fit to hold a candle to your beauty.  To be brief, if I die not by the sword, you will still be the cause of my death, for I am resolved to spend my life in your love, if life will depart in the place whence it comes.”

Now this queen had never heard such words before, and preferred them to the most sweetly sung mass; her pleasure showed itself in her face, which became purple, for these words made her blood boil within her veins, so that the strings of her lute were moved thereat, and struck a sweet note that rang melodiously in her ears, for this lute fills with its music the brain and the body of the ladies, by a sweet artifice of their resonant nature.  What a shame to be young, beautiful, Spanish, and queen, and yet neglected.  She conceived an intense disdain for those of her