ere chanted to him. Till about three
o'clock in the morning he listened while Master Froissart read aloud his
poems, tales, or histories, while the courtiers yawned, no doubt, and
wished for bedtime. But it was the good Count's manner to turn night
into day. He was sometimes melancholy, and, as is told in the story of
Orthon, men believed that he saw and knew events far distant, but in
what manner none could tell. This great prince dwelt at peace while the
wars of France, England, Portugal, and Spain raged outside his
dominions. Rich, powerful, handsome, and deeply religious, he seemed to
have everything that could make him happy, but he had no son and heir;
his lands, on his death, would go to a distant cousin. Nor did the lady
his wife live with the Count of Foix. Concerning this, and the early
death of the Count's one son, Gaston, Master Froissart was very curious,
but he found that people did not care to speak of the matter. At length
an old squire told him the story of the death of Gaston.

The Countess of Foix was the sister of the King of Navarre, and between
the Count her husband, and the King her brother, a quarrel arose on a
question of money. The Count therefore sent his wife to her brother at
Pampeluna, that she might arrange the matter; but the end of it was that
she stayed in Navarre, and did not return to her lord. Meanwhile her son
Gaston grew up at Orthez, and married a daughter of the Count of
Armagnac, being now a lad of sixteen, a good squire, and in all things
very like his father. He had a desire to see his mother, and so rode
into Navarre, hoping to bring home his mother, the Countess of Foix. But
she would not leave Navarre for all that he could say, and the day came
when he and the young squires of his company must return. Then the King
of Navarre led him apart into a secret chamber, and there gave him a
little purse. Now the purse was full of a powder of such sort that no
living creature could taste of it and live, but must die without remedy.

'Gaston, fair nephew,' said the King, 'you see how your father, the
Count, holds your mother in bitter hate--a sore grief to me and to you
also. Now to change all this, and bring your father and mother back to
their ancient love, you must watch your chance and sprinkle a little of
this powder on any food that your father is about to eat, taking good
care that no man sees you. And the powder is a charm so strong that your
father, as soon as he has tasted