’"Lord King—­” Gaucelm began, then stopped.  My lord bayed at him.

’"Oy Deus!” he said in our tongue, below his breath; and Jehane slid off his knee and on to her own.  So fell kneeling the whole company, till Gaston of Bearn, more mad than most, sprang up, shouting, “Hail, King of the English!” and better, “Hail, Count of Anjou!” We all began on that cry; but he stopped us with a poignant look.

’"God have mercy on me:  I am very wicked,” he said, and covered up his face.  No one spoke.  Jehane bent herself far down and kissed his foot.

’Then he sent for the heralds, and in burst Hugh Puiset, Bishop of Durham, with his flaming face, outstripping all the others and decency at once.  By this time King Richard had recovered himself.  He heard the tale without moving a feature, and gave a few short commands.  The first was that the body of the dead King should be carried splendidly to Fontevrault; and the next that a pall should be set up in his private chapel here at Poictiers, and tall candles set lighted about it.  So soon as this was done he left the chamber, all standing, and went alone to the chapel.  He spent the night there on his knees, himself only with a few priests.  He neither sent for Countess Jehane, nor did she presume to seek him.  Her women tell me that she prayed all night before a Christ in her bed-chamber; and well she might, with a queen’s crown in fair view.  In two or three days’ time King Richard pressed out, very early, for Fontevrault.  I went with him, and so did Hugh of Durham, the Bishop of Poictiers, and the Dauphin of Auvergne.  These, with the Chancellor of Poictou, the household servants and guards, were all we had with us.  The Countess was to be ready upon word from him to go with her ladies and the court whithersoever he should appoint.  Bertran de Born went away in the night, and King Richard never saw him again; but I shall have to speak of his last tenzon, and his last Sirvente of Kings, by heaven!

’Before he went King Richard kissed the Countess Jehane twice in the great hall.  “Farewell, my queen,” he said plainly, and, as some think, but not I, deliberately.  “God be thy good friend.  I shall see thee before many days.”  If the man was changed already, she was not at all changed.  She was very grave, but not crying, and put up her face for his kisses as meek as any baby.  She said nothing at all, but stood palely at the door with her women as King Richard rode over the bridge.

‘For my part,’ he concludes, ’when I consider the youth and fierce untutored blood of this noblest of his race; or when I remember their terrible names, Tortulf Forester, and Ingelger, Fulke the Black and Fulke the Red, and Geoffrey Greygown and Geoffrey the Fair, and that old Henry, the wickedest of all; their deeds also, how father warred upon his sons, and sons conspired against their fathers; how they hated righteousness and loved iniquity, and spurned monks and priests, and revelled in the shambles they