and unbinding her hair so that it fell to her
feet in a golden cloud, hied her to Joceliande, who bade her take a
book of chivalry and read aloud. But Solita so bent her head that her
hair fell ever across the pages and hindered her from reading, and
each time she put it roughly back from her forehead with some small
word of anger as though she was vexed.

"What ails you, child?" asked the princess.

"It is my hair," replied Solita. But the princess paid no heed. She
heard little, indeed, even of what was read, but sat by the window
gazing out across the grey hungry sea, and bethinking her of the Sieur
Rudel and his gallant men. And again Solita let her hair fall upon the
scroll, and again she tossed it back, saying, "Fie! Fie!"

"What ails you, child?" the princess asked.

"It is my hair," she replied, and Joceliande, smiling heedlessly, bade
her read on. So she read until Joceliande bade her stop and called to
her, and Solita came over to the window and knelt by the side of the
princess, so that her hair fell across the wrist of Joceliande and
fettered it. "It _is_ ever in the way," said Solita, and she loosed
it from the wrist of the princess. But the princess caught the silky
coils within her hand and smoothed them tenderly. "That were easily
remedied," she replied with a smile, and she sought for the scissors
which hung at her girdle.

But Solita bethought her that many men had praised the colour and
softness of her hair--why, she could not tell, for dark locks alone
were beautiful in her eyes. Howbeit men praised hers, and for Sieur
Rudel's sake she would fain be as praiseworthy as might be. Therefore
she stayed Joceliande's hand and cried aloud in fear, "Nay, nay, sweet
lady, 'tis all the gold I have, and I pray you leave it me who am so
poor."

And the Princess Joceliande laughed, and replaced the scissors in her
girdle. "I did but make pretence, to try you," she said, "for, in
truth, I had begun to think you were some holy angel and no woman, so
little share had you in a woman's vanities. But 'tis all unbound, and
I wonder not that it hinders you. Let me bind it up!"

And while the princess bound the hair cunningly in a coronal upon her
head, Solita spake again hesitatingly, seeking to conceal her craft.

"Madame, it is easy for you to bind my hair, but for myself, I have no
mirror and so dress it awkwardly."

Joceliande laughed again merrily at the words. "Dear heart!" she
cried. "What man is it? H