Thus I sang to the memory of my true lady, for it was the last song our brave Renaud had made for her before he rode away to Terre Sainte.  So when the song was finished I sat a long time still, taking counsel with my sad heart over the black past:  how, four May-times ago, I had ridden blithely forth as singing page in my lady’s train, when she left her own fair land of Aragon to be wedded to this grim Count Fael of the North; how from that time forth I had dwelt here in his castle, vassal to him only because he was lord to my liege lady, but fearing alway his stern face, that froze the laugh on the lips and made joyousness die, stillborn; how my sole happiness had been to serve my lady and sing her such songs as I made, and my grief to see her fair face fade and her grey eyes grow less laughing day by day.  Then one morning had come this brave Renaud, Chatelain of far-off Coucy, seeming to bring in his eyes, his voice, his lute, all the merry Spring times we had missed.  So he came often and often, teaching me the great art of song he knew so well; and we were all very happy.  But bye-and-bye he came only when my lord was out a-hawking or to tourney, and then very quietly, but always with his lute and with song to my lady.  I guessed well which way the wind was blowing, but surely the pitiful Virgin granted my lady, and justly, this one little hour of happiness.  So it went on and on for a long time and it seemed that my lord was always away to hunt or to battle, and that when he came back the songs of Renaud of Coucy never ceased, but only changed their place, coming now by night under my lady’s casement.

Then there was spread abroad through the land this great fire in all hearts to go to Terre Sainte and to deliver the holy Jerusalem of Our Lord from the curse of the Saracen hand, and our poor Renaud must feel himself among the first to go.  So one sad morning at early dawn he had come under my lady’s window and sung her that farewell which so filled my heart, and I had heard from my post in my lady’s antechamber.  But oh, Mother of God! so had my lord, who, being at home and sleepless, had risen betimes and was walking in the cool of the morning on a little pleasaunce next my lady’s tower, and hearing the song, had looked unseen at the singer, had guessed the bitter truth, but had held his peace till a riper time.

From then we went on much as before Renaud had come to us, except that I sang his songs to my lady with all the art he had taught me, while she sat pale and fair, her hands idle on the tambour frame and her eyes looking on something far, far off.  So for a long time there was no ill-hap, only my lady’s eyes grew dreamier and dreamier and her thoughts dwelt less and less in this dark Castle of Fael, and she cared no longer to go a-maying in the pleasant meadows with her women.  Then, one twilight, when my lord had been back from the hunt three days, and when there had been deep wassailing in the hall, and my lady