“Interpose not thy remarks, youth. The living count hath sought for his brother, and hath not found him. And I will wager my chain here, which I won in honest fight,—that never shall human eyes see him again. But mark you this:—I could tell the thief—I could tell her—yea—marry, could I.”
The castle bell began to toll, whereat a marvellous trembling came upon the men-at-arms. Then was heard the roll of a drum. The time to relieve guard had arrived, so the story-telling crowd dispersed.
Go we now to the gardens of the palace, where the moon looked down upon two female forms, the lady Leonora and Ines, her confidante. Leonora had been telling Ines of her love for some unknown knight. She had seen him at the last tournament—where he appeared in dark mysterious garments and carried a shield without armorial bearings. He gained the laurel; and she,—she placed that laurel crown upon his brow. But, alas!—almost immediately after, came news of a civil war, the assembly within a day dispersed, and with the rest went the unknown warrior. But—but a few nights since she heard, near her casement, the plaintive notes of a guitar and words of a plaintive song. Drawing near, she heard her own name sighed,—again and yet again; till the very air seemed to breathe forth the name of Leonora.
“’Twas he—by the pale moonlight she saw ’twas he.”
“I would, lady, that you forgot him.”
“Counsel easily given, Ines, but not kindly taken. Come, let us return to the palace.”
Scarcely had they departed when the Count di Luna came softly towards the palace windows, that he might be near his beloved Leonora. The garden was bathed in the light of the virgin moon.
As he approached a window, from which streamed the rays of a taper, he started; for a voice he well knew began to carol forth a song—the voice of the troubadour, who had dared approach the palace windows, night after night, for many nights.
“O’er the lands of the earth
He hath wandered from birth;
He hath much—wants no more,
Does this same troubadour.
He hath treasure, I’m told,
Quite surpassing all gold,
’Tis a lady—no more.
He’s a rich troubadour.”