“Men speak well of you,” said she, “they tell me you are kind of heart and merciful and will spare my shame. But I ask not for pity. I will not be companion to a man who does not love me without pity, that I may be triumphant and without shame.”
“That you may well be,” said I, “if you will but listen.”
“It is not ears but eyes shall convince me,” said she.
“Set me any task,” said I.
“Nay,” she replied, “let me but see you. Do not pursue me. Let me see you in your daily work. I am to be Lady in Waiting to the Queen, and I may see you thus.”
“You are harsh,” said I, “What have I done to be treated so unkindly?”
“I will not listen,” said she, stopping her ears with her fingers and running away.
For weeks thereafter I was condemned to see her daily but scarcely to speak to her. The King and Queen sought to throw us together but failed because she would not. At last I despaired. I went to the King and asked that I might be allowed to depart to my estate in Flanders so that I need no longer be on the rack. To this the King replied: “Do but let me speak to her again!” to which I gave consent.
The next day I was sent for again to the King’s Cabinet, and entering found her again. “Why will you not put an end to this severity?” said the King, turning to her. “The poor fool pines daily. He loses flesh. He sulks. He is as one distraught. Mend him or break him, but torture him no longer.”
“He is my own husband,” said she, her eyes flashing defiance.