“So God help you, good child, indeed you will do it! and take these ten sous that I have here in my purse.”

“Sire les deniers prenderons nos, mais je ne vos canterai mie, car j’en ai jure.  Mais je le vos conterai se vos voles.”

“De par diu!” faits Aucassins.  “Encore aim je mix center que nient.”

“Sire, the money we will take, but I’ll not sing to you, for I’ve sworn it.  But I will tell it you, if you like.”

“For God’s sake!” said Aucassins; “better telling than nothing!”

Ten sous was no small gift! twenty sous was the value of a strong ox.  The poet put a high money-value on the force of love, but he set a higher value on it in courtesy.  These boors were openly insolent to their young lord, trying to extort money from him, and threatening him with telling his father; but they were in their right, and Nicolette was in their power.  At heart they meant Aucassins well, but they were rude and grasping, and the poet used them in order to show how love made the true lover courteous even to clowns.  Aucassins’ gentle courtesy is brought out by the boors’ greed, as the colours in the window were brought out and given their value by a bit of blue or green.  The poet, having got his little touch of colour rightly placed, let the peasants go.  “Cil qui fu plus enparles des autres,” having been given his way and his money, told Aucassins what he knew of Nicolette and her message; so Aucassins put spurs to his horse and cantered into the forest, singing:—­

Se diu plaist le pere fort
 Je vos reverai encore
   Suer, douce a-mie!

So please God, great and strong,
 I will find you now ere long,
   Sister, sweet friend!

But the peasant had singular attraction for the poet.  Whether the character gave him a chance for some clever mimicry, which was one of his strong points as a story-teller:  or whether he wanted to treat his subjects, like the legendary windows, in pairs; or whether he felt that the forest-scene specially amused his audience, he immediately introduced a peasant of another class, much more strongly coloured, or deeply shadowed.  Every one in the audience was—­and, for that matter, still would be—­familiar with the great forests, the home of half the fairy and nursery tales of Europe, still wild enough and extensive enough to hide in, although they have now comparatively few lions, and not many wolves or wild boars or serpents such as Nicolette feared.  Every one saw, without an effort, the young damoiseau riding out with his hound or hawk, looking for game; the lanes under the trees, through the wood, or the thick underbrush before lanes were made; the herdsmen watching their herds, and keeping a sharp look-out for wolves; the peasant seeking lost cattle; the black kiln-men burning charcoal; and in the depths of the rocks or swamps or thickets—­the outlaw.  Even now, forests like Rambouillet, or Fontainebleau or Compiegne are enormous and wild; one can see Aucassins breaking his way through thorns and branches in search of Nicolette, tearing his clothes and wounding himself “en xl lius u en xxx,” until evening approached, and he began to weep for disappointment:—­