Ralph heard and reddened, but gave him back no answer; and they went together to the High House of the Queen, which was like a piece of the Kingdom of Heaven for loveliness, so many pillars as there were of bright marble stone, and gilded, and the chapiters carved most excellently:  not many hangings on the walls, for the walls themselves were carven, and painted with pictures in the most excellent manner; the floors withal were so dainty that they seemed as if they were made for none but the feet of the fairest of women.  And all this was set amidst of gardens, the like of which they had never seen.

But they entered without more ado, and were brought by the pages to the Lady’s innermost chamber; and if the rest of the house were goodly, this was goodlier, and a marvel, so that it seemed wrought rather by goldsmiths and jewellers than by masons and carvers.  Yet indeed many had said with Clement that the Queen who sat there was the goodliest part thereof.

Now she spake to Clement and said:  “Hail, merchant!  Is this the young knight of whom thou tellest, he who seeketh his beloved that hath been borne away into thralldom by evil men?”

“Even so,” said Clement.  But Ralph spake:  “Nay, Lady, the damsel whom I seek is not my beloved, but my friend.  My beloved is dead.”

The Queen looked on him smiling kindly, yet was her face somewhat troubled.  She said:  “Master chapman, thy time here is not over long for all that thou hast to do; so we give thee leave to depart with our thanks for bringing a friend to see us.  But this knight hath no affairs to look to:  so if he will abide with us for a little, it will be our pleasure.”

So Clement made his obeisance and went his ways.  But the Queen bade Ralph sit before her, and tell her of his griefs, and she looked so kindly and friendly upon him that the heart melted within him, and he might say no word, for the tears that brake out from him, and he wept before her; while she looked on him, the colour coming and going in her face, and her lips trembling, and let him weep on.  But he thought not of her, but of himself and how kind she was to him.  But after a while he mastered his passion and began, and told her all he had done and suffered.  Long was the tale in the telling, for it was sweet to him to lay before her both his grief and his hope.  She let him talk on, and whiles she listened to him, and whiles, not, but all the time she gazed on him, yet sometimes askance, as if she were ashamed.  As for him, he saw her face how fair and lovely she was, yet was there little longing in his heart for her, more than for one of the painted women on the wall, for as kind and as dear as he deemed her.

When he had done, she kept silence a while, but at last she enforced her, and spake:  “Sad it is for the mother that bore thee that thou art not in her house, wherein all things would be kind and familiar to thee.  Maybe thou art seeking for what is not.  Or maybe thou shalt seek and shalt find, and there may be naught in what thou findest, whereof to give thee such gifts as are meet for thy faithfulness and valiancy.  But in thine home shouldst thou have all gifts which thou mayest desire.”