said Aucassin, "tell me where is the
place so high in all the world, that Nicolette, my sweet lady
and love, would not grace it well? If she were Empress of
Constantinople or of Germany, or Queen of France or England,
it were little enough for her; so gentle is she and
courteous, and debonnaire, and compact of all good
qualities."

IMPRISONMENT OF NICOLETTE

When Count Garin of Beaucaire knew that he would not avail to withdraw
Aucassin, his son, from the love of Nicolette, he went to the viscount
of the city, who was his man, and spake to him saying:--"Sir Count: away
with Nicolette, thy daughter in God; cursed be the land whence she was
brought into this country, for by reason of her do I lose Aucassin, that
will neither be a knight, nor do aught of the things that fall to him to
be done. And wit ye well," he said, "that if I might have her at my
will, I would burn her in a fire, and yourself might well be
sore adread."

"Sir," said the Viscount, "this is grievous to me that he comes and goes
and hath speech with her. I had bought the maid at mine own charges, and
nourished her, and baptized, and made her my daughter in God. Yea, I
would have given her to a young man that should win her bread honorably.
With this had Aucassin, thy son, naught to make or mend. But sith it is
thy will and thy pleasure, I will send her into that land and that
country where never will he see her with his eyes."

"Have a heed to thyself," said the Count Garin: "thence might great
evil come on thee."

So parted they each from the other. Now the Viscount was a right rich
man: so had he a rich palace with a garden in face of it; in an upper
chamber thereof he had Nicolette placed, with one old woman to keep her
company, and in that chamber put bread and meat and wine and such things
as were needful. Then he had the door sealed, that none might come in or
go forth, save that there was one window, over against the garden, and
quite strait, through which came to them a little air.

_Here singeth one_:--
Nicolette as ye heard tell
Prisoned is within a cell
That is painted wondrously
With colors of a far countrie.
At the window of marble wrought,
There the maiden stood in thought,
With straight brows and yellow hair,
Never saw ye fairer fair!
On the wood she gazed below,
And she saw the rose