e,
for, behold, here is the ring of thy daughter Yvette, unto whom I am
pledged for her true knight. Wherefore, having now achieved a not
dishonorable renown in the world of chivalry, I am come to beseech her
kindness and to redeem my ring which she hath upon her finger and to give
her back her ring again."

Then King Pecheur fell to weeping in great measure and he said: "Percival
thy fame hath reached even to this remote place, for every one talketh of
thee with great unction. But, touching my daughter Yvette, if thou wilt
come with me I will bring thee to her."

So King Pecheur arose and went forth and Sir Percival followed him. And
King Pecheur brought Sir Percival to a certain tower; and he brought him up
a long and winding stair; and at the top of the stairway was a door. And
King Pecheur opened the door and Sir Percival entered the apartment.

[Sidenote: Sir Percival findeth the Lady Yvette] The windows of the
apartment stood open, and a cold wind came in thereat from off the sea; and
there stood a couch in the middle of the room, and it was spread with black
velvet; and the Lady Yvette lay reclined upon the couch, and, lo! her face
was like to wax for whiteness, and she neither moved nor spake, but only
lay there perfectly still; for she was dead.

Seven waxen candles burned at her head, and seven others at her feet, and
the flames of the candles spread and wavered as the cold wind blew upon
them. And the hair of her head (as black as those raven feathers that Sir
Percival had beheld lying upon the snow) moved like threads of black silk
as the wind blew in through the window--but the Lady Yvette moved not nor
stirred, but lay like a statue of marble all clad in white.

Then at the first Sir Percival stood very still at the door-way as though
he had of a sudden been turned into stone. Then he went forward and stood
beside the couch and held his hands very tightly together and gazed at the
Lady Yvette where she lay. So he stood for a long while, and he wist not
why it was that he felt like as though he had been turned into a stone,
without such grief at his heart as he had thought to feel thereat. (For
indeed, his spirit was altogether broken though he knew it not.)

[Sidenote: Of the grief of Sir Percival] Then he spake unto that still
figure, and he said: "Dear lady, is it thus I find thee after all this long
endeavor of mine? Yet from Paradise, haply, thou mayst perceive all that I
have accomplished in thy