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But the princess turned sharply to Sir Broyance. “Sir, have you changed your tune?” she said; “for never was a man so urgent as you with me for the Sieur Rudel’s help.”

“Alas! madame,” he replied, “I knew not then that he was plighted to the maiden Solita, or never would I have borne this message. For this I surely know, that all my days are waste and barren because I suffered my mistress to send me from her after a will-of-the-wisp honour, even as Solita would send her lord.”

Thereupon Solita brake in upon him:

“But, my lord, you have won great renown, and far and wide is your prowess known and sung.”

“That avails me nothing,” he replied, “my life rings hollow like an empty cup, and so are two lives wasted.”

“Nay, my lord, neither life is wasted. For much have you done for others, though maybe little for yourself, while for her you loved the noise of your achievements must have been enough.”

“Of that I cannot tell,” he answered. “But this I know: she drags a pale life out behind convent walls. Often have I passed the gate with my warriors, but never could I hold speech with her.”

“She will have seen your banners glancing in the sun,” said Solita, “and so will she know her sacrifice was good.” Thereupon she turned her again to her husband. “For my sake, dear Rudel, I pray you go to Broye.”

But still he persisted, saying he would not depart from her till death, until at last she ceased from her importunities, and went sadly to her chamber. Then she unbound her hair and stood gazing at her likeness in the mirror.

“O cursed beauty,” she cried, “wherein I took vain pride for my sweet lord’s sake–truly art thou my ruin and snare!” And while she thus made moan, the princess came softly into her chamber.

“He will not leave me, madame,” she sobbed. Joceliande came over to her and gently laid her hand upon her head and whispered in her ear, “Not while you live!”

For awhile Solita sat silent.

“Ay, madame,” she said at length, “even as I came alone to these coasts, so will I go from them;” and slowly she drew from its sheath a little knife which she carried at her girdle. She tried the point upon her finger, so that the blood sprang from the prick and dropped on her white gown. At the sight she gave a cry and dropped the knife, and “I cannot do it” she said, “I have not the courage. But you, madame! Ever have you been kind to me, and therefore show me this last kindness.”

“I will well,” said the princess; and she made Solita to sit upon a couch, and with two bands of her golden hair she tied her hands fast behind her, and so laid her upon her back on the couch. And when she had so laid her she said:

“But for all that you die, he shall not go to Broye, but here shall he bide, and share my throne with me.”

Thereupon did Solita perceive all the treachery of Princess Joceliande, and vainly she struggled to free her hands and to cry out for help. But Joceliande clapped her palm upon Solita’s mouth, and drawing a gold pin from her own hair, she drove it straight into her heart, until nothing but the little knob could be seen. So Solita died, and quickly the princess wiped the blood from her breast, and unbound her hands and arranged her limbs as though she slept. Then she returned to the hall, and, summoning the warden, bade him loose the Sieur Rudel.

“It shall be even as you wish,” she said to him. Wise and prudent had she been, had she ended with that; but her malice was not yet sated, and so she suffered it to lead her to her ruin. For she stretched out her hand to him and said, “I myself will take you to your wife.” And greatly marvelling, the Sieur Rudel took her hand and followed.