At these words she fell into a swoon and remained without consciousness till Archambaut’s return.
“Madam, here is our master,” cried Alis, fearful lest her mistress, awaking, might let fall some word to arouse his suspicions. She cried so loudly that Flamenca recovered her senses; but, before opening her eyes, she lay still a moment, to prepare what she should say to her husband.
Archambaut was all disturbed. Bringing water, he dashed it in her face. Then at last, opening her eyes, and looking up, she drew a deep sigh.
“My lady,” he inquired anxiously, “what ails you?”
“My lord, a pain at my heart is killing me.”
“I believe if you took a little nutmeg every day it would cure you.”
“No, sire, the baths alone can bring me any relief. Lead me there on Wednesday, I beseech you.”
It did not please lord Archambaut to have his wife go to the baths. He took her there as seldom as possible, and always examined each corner carefully before leaving her, for fear some man might be lurking in the corner; but he could not refuse her now.
“Very well, I am willing,” he grumbled, going out in a bad humour to find Pierre Gui and to tell him to make ready the baths.
Tuesday Flamenca, who found herself well enough to go to the church, said: “With all my heart,” and, with her left hand, lightly brushed Guillem’s right. He returned home in a state of rapture, and that evening he heard his host say to two servants: