s
mistresses who just then was highest in his favour. On a low stool at
his feet crouched a mis-shapen dwarf, who played the part of fool and
fed his dogs. The beautiful bold woman sat by his side, and poured him
out red wine into a silver goblet, putting her lips to it before he
drained it at a draught. "They all looked at me," said Geoffroy, "as
though I arrived very opportunely to divert their dulness by some
novelty or other, for none of them appeared in spirits except the fool,
who with shallow jests that waked no laughter, went on throwing
fragments of food to the dogs. I delivered your letter without speaking
a word, and while the Count unfolded and read it, I could not but think
how she who wrote it would have been received at such a table. The
thought made the blood rush to my head, and such a giddiness came over
me that I was obliged to lean upon my sword. One of the guests who
noticed this ordered that wine should be brought me, for I must be
weary and thirsty after my rapid ride, but I shook my head and said I
would only await the answer, and then return at once. Meanwhile the
Count had read the letter, and made it over in silence to his
neighbour; she had scarcely run her eyes over the first few lines
before she burst out into loud laughter. 'A sermon!' she cried, 'God's
death! You are going to get a saint for a wife,' and then she began to
read the letter aloud, line for line; and the words that would have
made stones weep and moved the gates of hell, waked only mocking echoes
here. Blasphemies and impious jests broke out, interrupting the
reading. Then the woman rose, and casting a proud look upon the Count,
said with curled lip, 'The saint may come and welcome. I was averse to
her, thinking she might turn your heart from us all and rule here
alone, but now that I have read her letter I am not afraid of her. You,
Pierre de Gaillac are not the man to wear a hair-shirt and a prickly
girdle. You are accustomed to the fires of hell, and the air of
heaven would but chill you. In hell, however, there is more joy over
one who sickens of penance and returns to his evil ways than over
ninety-and-nine lost souls. Whereupon I empty this goblet to the last
drop, and call upon you to pledge me.' She drank, the Count drew her
closer to his side, and whispered something into her ear that made her
laugh loud. They all seemed to have forgotten the messenger who had
brought the letter; the letter itself was handed to the ot