avenged his honour by killing the man who had
deceived you; and it will be the greatest happiness that could ever
befall me to die for you, the moment you refuse to live for me."

Hearing this tender discourse spoken with tears, Bertha dropped the
dagger; Jehan sprang upon it, and thrust it into his breast, saying--

"Such happiness can be paid for but with death."

And fell stiff and stark.

Bertha, terrified, called aloud for her maid. The servant came, and
terribly alarmed to see a wounded man in Madame's chamber, and Madame
holding him up, crying and saying, "What have you done, my love?"
because she believed he was dead, and remembered her vanished joys,
and thought how beautiful Jehan must be, since everyone, even Imbert,
believed him to be a girl. In her sorrow she confessed all to her
maid, sobbing and crying out, "that it was quite enough to have upon
her mind the life of a child without having the death of a man as
well." Hearing this the poor lover tried to open his eyes, and only
succeeded in showing a little bit of the white of them.

"Ha! Madame, don't cry out," said the servant, "let us keep our senses
together and save this pretty knight. I will go and seek La Fallotte,
in order not to let any physician or surgeon into the secret, and as
she is a sorceress she will, to please Madame, perform the miracle of
healing this wound so not a trace of it shall remain.

"Run!" replied Bertha. "I will love you, and will pay you well for
this assistance."

But before anything else was done the lady and her maid agreed to be
silent about this adventure, and hide Jehan from every eye. Then the
servant went out into the night to seek La Fallotte, and was
accompanied by her mistress as far as the postern, because the guard
could not raise the portcullis without Bertha's special order. Bertha
found on going back that her lover had fainted, for the blood was
flowing from the wound. At the sight she drank a little of his blood,
thinking that Jehan had shed it for her. Affected by this great love
and by the danger, she kissed this pretty varlet of pleasure on the
face, bound up his wound, bathing it with her tears, beseeching him
not to die, and exclaiming that if he would live she would love him
with all her heart. You can imagine that the chatelaine became still
more enamoured while observing what a difference there was between a
young knight like Jehan, white, downy, and agreeable, and an old
fellow like Imbert,