bstructed that I could not
possibly pass through." "Certainly," she says, "I consent. My will need
not stand in your way; but you must wait until I retire to my bed again,
so that no harm may come to you, for it would be no joke or jest if the
seneschal, who is sleeping here, should wake up on hearing you. So it is
best for me to withdraw, for no good could come of it, if he should see
me standing here." "Go then, lady," he replies; "but have no fear that I
shall make any noise. I think I can draw out the bars so softly and with
so little effort that no one shall be aroused."

(Vv. 4651-4754.) Then the Queen retires, and he prepares to loosen the
window. Seizing the bars, he pulls and wrenches them until he makes them
bend and drags them from their places. But the iron was so sharp that
the end of his little finger was cut to the nerve, and the first joint
of the next finger was torn; but he who is intent upon something else
paid no heed to any of his wounds or to the blood which trickled down.
Though the window is not low, Lancelot gets through it quickly and
easily. First he finds Kay asleep in his bed, then he comes to the bed
of the Queen, whom he adores and before whom he kneels, holding her more
dear than the relic of any saint. And the Queen extends her arms to him
and, embracing him, presses him tightly against her bosom, drawing him
into the bed beside her and showing him every possible satisfaction; her
love and her heart go out to him. It is love that prompts her to treat
him so; and if she feels great love for him, he feels a hundred thousand
times as much for her. For there is no love at all in other hearts
compared with what there is in his; in his heart love was so completely
embodied that it was niggardly toward all other hearts. Now Lancelot
possesses all he wants, when the Queen voluntarily seeks his company
and love, and when he holds her in his arms, and she holds him in hers.
Their sport is so agreeable and sweet, as they kiss and fondle each
other, that in truth such a marvellous joy comes over them as was never
heard or known. But their joy will not be revealed by me, for in a
story, it has no place. Yet, the most choice and delightful satisfaction
was precisely that of which our story must not speak. That night
Lancelot's joy and pleasure were very great. But, to his sorrow, day
comes when he must leave his mistress' side. It cost him such pain to
leave her that he suffered a real martyr's agony.