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“What! have I round me naught but coward folk,” she loudly cried, “and knights without a heart? Go fifty; if it need, go thrice that number still; but bring this vassal, or no more return!”
At this reproach, the knights rushed off in troop, and to the garden hied with dash and din. When there, they Jaufry seized,—some by the arm, and others by the leg; while some his shoulders held, and some his head, and brought him thus into that lordly hall without his being able to stir limb. On seeing them arrive, the dame impatient came with hasty step and bade them set him free. They loosed their hold, and Jaufry stood upright; nor could he think, as round his glance was thrown, 'twas sport that brought him 'mong such iron folk. Tall and well-shaped, his natural manly grace, set off with hauberk rich and burnished casque, struck Brunissende, who eyed him curiously.
“'Tis you,” at length she said, “who all this ill have wrought.”
“Fair lady,” he replied, “so far am I from doing what you say, or causing you annoy, I would defend you with my utmost strength 'gainst all of mother born.”
“In that you say not truth; for you erewhile have so misused my knight, that he may chance to die.”
“I own it, lady fair, but he was in the wrong; having by oath engaged to let me sleep, he thrice returned to wake me up, and struck me with his lance. Still, had I known him feoffee to you, never on him had risen this knightly hand, e'en for a greater cause.”
“No matter! I can see,” replied the dame, “we 'll find in you,—and that ere morning sun,—a proper subject for the cord, or worse.”
Whilst thus she spoke, Jaufry regarded her; and ne'er had tired admiring her brow, her neck, her fair and sweet fresh face, her rosy mouth, and blue and loving eyes.