Benoit by name, the fairest
and goodliest of all in the castle, whom Paul loved well; and he
leaned over and said some words in the maiden's ear, who looked round
shyly at him with a little smile.

Then Paul put out all his art, as though to recover a thing that he
had nearly lost. He struck a sweet chord on the lute, and the talk all
died away and left an utter silence; and Paul, looking at but one
face, and as though he spoke but to one ear, sang his song of love. It
was like a spell of magic; men and women turned to each other and felt
the love of their youth rise in their hearts as sweet as ever. The
Duke where he sate laid a hand upon the Duchess' hand and smiled. They
that were old, and had lost what they loved, were moved to
weeping--and the young men and maidens looked upon the ground, or at
the singer, and felt the hot blood rise in their cheeks. And Paul,
exulting in his heart, felt that he swayed the souls of those that
heard him, as the wind sways a field of wheat, that bends all one way
before it. Then again came the silence, when the voice ceased; a
silence into which the last chords of the lute sank, like stones
dropped into a still water. And Paul bowed again, and stepped down
from the dais--and then with slow steps he moved to where the Lady
Beckwith sate, and bowing to her, took the chair beside her.

Then came a tumbler and played many agile tricks before them; and
then a company of mummers, with the heads of birds and beasts, danced
and sported. But the Lady Beckwith said, "Sir Paul, I will tell you a
tale. A bird of the forest alighted at our window-sill some days ago,
and sang very sweetly to us--and we spread crumbs and made it a little
feast; and it seemed to trust us, but presently it spread its wings
and flew away, and it comes not again. Tell us, what shall we do to
tempt the wild bird back?" And Paul, smiling in her face, said, "Oh,
madam, the bird will return; but he leads, maybe, a toilsome life,
gathering berries, and doing small businesses. The birds, which seem
so free, live a life of labour; and they may not always follow their
hearts. But be sure that your bird knows his friends; and some day,
when he has opportunity, he will alight again. To him his songs seem
but a small gift, a shallow twittering that can hardly please." "Nay,"
said the Lady Beckwith, "but this was a nightingale that knew the
power of song, and could touch all hearts except his own; and thus,
finding love so simpl