Gaucelm the Fortunate raised his hand for quiet. When it was attained he spoke courteously to Guiraut of the Vale. “Count Savaric echoes my soul when he would have peace and friendliness and not enmity between Roche-de-Frêne and Montmaure. Certes, that may be brought about, or this way or that way! For the way that he advances, it must be considered, and that with gravity and courteousness. But, such is the plenitude of life, the same city may be reached by many roads.”
“Beseeching your pardon,” said Guiraut of the Vale, “that is true of many cities, but not, according to the count my master, of this one!”
The hall rustled again. The lord of Roche-de-Frêne sat quietly in his great chair, but he bent upon Montmaure’s envoy a look profound and brooding. At last he spoke. “We are not to be threated, Sir Guiraut of the Vale, into a road whatsoever! Nor is this city, that is only to be reached so, of such importance, perhaps, to Roche-de-Frêne as imagineth the ‘great count.’” Wherewith he ceased to deal with Guiraut and spoke aside to his daughter.
The Princess Audiart rose from her chair. She stood in long, flowing red shading from the cherry of her under-robe through the deepened crimson of the bliaut to the almost black of her mantle. At the base of her bare throat glowed on its chain of gold the pear-shaped ruby.
“To-day, Sir Guiraut of the Vale,” she said, “we receive the count your master’s fair proffer of his son for my bridegroom. For my part, I thank the count for his courtesy and good-will and fair words to me-ward. The prince my father consenting, one week from to-day, here in the hall, you shall have answer to bear back. Until then, the prince my father, and the princess my fair and good step-dame, and myself, who must feel the honour your master does me, and all the knights and ladies of this court give you fair welcome! An we may, we will make the days until then pass pleasantly for a knight of whose valiancy this castle is not ignorant.”
She spoke without pride or feeling in her voice, simply, in the tone of princely courtesy. A stranger could not have told if she liked that proffer or no. Guiraut of the Vale made obeisance. Prince Gaucelm rose, putting an end to the audience.
Two hours later he came to the chamber of the ugly princess. It was a room set in a tower, large, with narrow windows commanding three directions. A curtained archway showed a smaller, withdrawing room. Rugs lay upon the oaken floor and the walls were hidden by hangings worked with the wanderings of Ulysses. The bed had silken curtains and a rich coverlet. Jutting from the hearth came a great cushioned settle. There were chairs, carven chests for wardrobe, a silver image of the Virgin, nearby a row of books. Present in the room when the prince came were the Lady Guida and the girl who had told in hall the story of Arthur’s knights. These, upon his entrance, took embroidery-frame and book, and disappeared into the smaller room.
Prince Gaucelm sat in the corner of the settle by the hearth. The Princess Audiart now stood before him, and now walked with slow steps to one or another window and back again. The prince watched her.
“Audiart, Audiart!” he said at last; “I doubt me that the hey-day and summer of peace has passed for Roche-de-Frêne!”