k, but dislikes to
talk. Love very often inflicts afresh the wound it has given him. Yet,
he applied no poultice to the wound to cure it and make it comfortable,
having no intention or desire to secure a poultice or to seek a
physician, unless the wound becomes more painful. Yet, there is one
whose remedy he would gladly seek .... [410] They follow the roads and
paths in the right direction until they come to a spring, situated
in the middle of a field, and bordered by a stone basin. Some one had
forgotten upon the stone a comb of gilded ivory. Never since ancient
times has wise man or fool seen such a comb. In its teeth there was
almost a handful of hair belonging to her who had used the comb.

(Vv. 1369-1552.) When the damsel notices the spring, and sees the stone,
she does not wish her companion to see it; so she turns off in another
direction. And he, agreeably occupied with his own thoughts, does not at
once remark that she is leading him aside; but when at last he notices
it, he is afraid of being beguiled, thinking that she is yielding and is
going out of the way in order to avoid some danger. "See here, damsel,"
he cries, "you are not going right; come this way! No one, I think, ever
went straight who left this road." "Sire, this is a better way for us,"
the damsel says, "I am sure of it." Then he replies to her: "I don't
know, damsel, what you think; but you can plainly see that the beaten
path lies this way; and since I have started to follow it, I shall not
turn aside. So come now, if you will, for I shall continue along this
way." Then they go forward until they come near the stone basin and
see the comb. The knight says: "I surely never remember to have seen
so beautiful a comb as this." "Let me have it," the damsel says.
"Willingly, damsel," he replies. Then he stoops over and picks it up.
While holding it, he looks at it steadfastly, gazing at the hair until
the damsel begins to laugh. When he sees her doing so, he begs her to
tell him why she laughs. And she says: "Never mind, for I will never
tell you." "Why not?" he asks. "Because I don't wish to do so." And when
he hears that, he implores her like one who holds that lovers ought to
keep faith mutually: "Damsel, if you love anything passionately, by that
I implore and conjure and beg you not to conceal from me the reason why
you laugh." "Your appeal is so strong," she says, "that I will tell you
and keep nothing back. I am sure, as I am of anything, tha