y was brought to her in the pavilion of the
Garden of Fountains; she spent two hours or more with him, teaching him
his prayers, the honour of his father, love and duty to his mother,
respect for the long purposes of God. At ten o'clock she broke her fast,
and afterwards her women sat with her at needlework; and one would sing,
or one tell a good tale; or, leave being given, they would gossip among
themselves, with a look ever at her for approval or (what rarely
happened) disapproval. There was not a soul among her slaves who did not
love her, nor one who did not fear her. She talked no more than she had
ever done, but she judged no less. Many times a day the Old Man sent for
her, or sometimes came to her room, to discuss his affairs. He never
found her out of humour, dull, perverse, or otherwise than well-disposed
to all his desires. Far from that, every Friday he gave thanks in the
mosque for the gift of such an admirable wife--grave, discreet, pious,
amorous, chaste, obedient, nimble, complaisant, and most beautiful, as
he hereby declared that he found her. Being a man of the greatest
possible experience, this was high praise; nor had he been slow in
making up his mind that she was to be trusted. He was about to prove his
deed as good as his opinion.

Word was brought her on a day, as she sat in the harem with her boy on
her knee, singing to herself and him some winding song of France, that
this redoubtable lord of hers was waiting to see her in her chamber. She
put the child down and followed the eunuch. Entering the room where the
Old Man sat, she knelt down, as was customary, and kissed his knee. He
touched her bent head. 'Rise up, my child,' says he, 'sit with me for a
little. I have matters of concernment for you.' She sat at once by his
side; he took her hand and began to talk to her in this manner.

'It appears, Jehane, that I am something of a prophet. Your late master,
the Melek Richard, has fallen into the power of his enemies; he is now a
prisoner of the Archduke's on many charges: first, the killing of your
brother Eudo, Count of Saint-Pol; but that is a very trifling affair,
which occurred, moreover, in fair battle. Next, they accuse
him--falsely, as you know--of the death of Montferrat. We may have our
own opinion about that. But the prime matter, as I guess, is ransom, and
whether those who wish him ill (not for what he has done to them, but
for what he has not allowed them to do to him) will suffer hi