"Yes, indeed I love them!" cried Joyeuse. "Let us then go to the Princess and ask her to keep me in her service."
The Princess looked long at Joyeuse, and at last she said: "How do I know what manner of minstrel you are? I cannot take you to her without some promise of your skill, for she is a Princess who cares only for the best. Come, let us go into the wilder part of the garden, where no one can hear us, and I will listen to your music."
So they went into a wild part of the garden, and sat down under a tree beside the little brook. And there he played and sang for her such sweet and beautiful music that she clapped her hands for joy. And when he had finished he said,—
"Well, dear maiden, do you think I am worthy to be your lady's minstrel? Have I the skill to make her happy?"
"Truly, Joyeuse, you have made me very happy, and you are a Prince of Minstrels," she answered. "Yet—I cannot tell. That is not enough. But hark! I hear the chapel bell. I must hasten back to the palace. To-morrow I will come again and listen to another song. Meanwhile do not try to see the Princess."
"I care not for the Princess, I," he called after her, "so long as I may see you, little flower!" And for an answer her laughter came back to him over the flowers.
So that day went by; and early the next morning Joyeuse took his lute and sought the flower-maiden in the garden. This time he sought her long and long before he found her among the roses. There was a crimson rose in her hair, and one upon either cheek when she glanced up, hearing his footsteps on the grass. There was also a crimson spot upon her white hand.
"See!" she cried, "a cruel thorn has pricked me. Let me test your skill in herbs, Sir Doctor."
With a sorry face, for it gave him pain to see her pain, Joyeuse ran to find the leaf of a certain plant which he knew. Presently he returned, and, taking a bit of linen from his scrip, tenderly bound the leaf about the poor wounded finger.
"Now will it be cured," he said. "This is a remedy which never fails."