Sir Tristram called his squire.
'Governale,' said he, 'what wine is this thou hast given us this day? Let us have another flask of the same.'
Governale was ever ill at a deception, and began to stammer.
'My lord,' he said, 'I fear me there is none other.'
'Ah,' said his master, 'and where got you that?'
'The gentlewoman of my Lady Isoude,' said he, 'brought it and bade me mix it in your lordship's wine.'
'What?' cried Sir Tristram, rising angrily. 'What means this? What trickery is this?'
'Oh, my lord, forgive me,' cried Governale. 'But we saw the sorrow of both your hearts, and we gave you the philtre that was meant for my lady and King Mark, and—and—my lord, you will break my lady's heart and your own if ye suffer this.' But Sir Tristram would hear no further, and fiercely sent his squire from his presence.
'Ah, my lord,' said La Belle Isoude, 'have those two poor souls done more evil than we are doing by hiding our hearts from each other? I would have you know that no ease shall you have all the days of your life, for I know that you love me, and as to that, there is no living man in all this world that I love as I love you. If ye think it unmaidenly in me to say that—then my own wretched heart forgives me.'
The gentle sorrow in her voice caused Sir Tristram's heart to swell with rage because he had promised to take her to wed King Mark.