"King Arthur will be hard put to it to deserve her!"
Said Jurgen: "Now it is droll that to these truths I have but to add another truth in order to have large paving-stones flung at her! and to have myself tumultuously torn into fragments, by those unpleasantly sweaty persons who, thank Heaven, are no longer jostling me!"
For the Cathedral porch had suddenly emptied, because as the procession passed heralds were scattering silver among the spectators.
"Arthur will have a very lovely queen," says a soft lazy voice.
And Jurgen turned and saw that beside him was Dame Anaïtis, whom people called the Lady of the Lake.
"Yes, he is greatly to be envied," says Jurgen, politely. "But do you not ride with them to London?"
"Why, no," says the Lady of the Lake, "because my part in this bridal was done when I mixed the stirrup-cup of which the Princess and young Lancelot drank this morning. He is the son of King Ban of Benwick, that tall young fellow in blue armor. I am partial to Lancelot, for I reared him, at the bottom of a lake that belongs to me, and I consider he does me credit. I also believe that Madame Guenevere by this time agrees with me. And so, my part being done to serve my creator, I am off for Cocaigne."
"And what is this Cocaigne?"
"It is an island wherein I rule."
"I did not know you were a queen, madame."