hovering
between life and death. So furious were the stranger knights because
of the resistance that had been made by the four champions that they
cast their opponents' shields outside the lists. But the knights of
Nantes won the day, and, raising their three slain comrades and him
who was wounded, carried all four to the house of their lady-love.

When the sad procession reached her doors the lady was greatly grieved
and cast down. To her three dead lovers she gave sumptuous burial in a
fair abbey. As for the fourth, she tended him with such skill that ere
long his wounds were healed and he was quite recovered. One summer day
the knight and the lady sat together after meat, and a great sadness
fell upon her because of the knights who had been slain in her cause.
Her head sank upon her breast and she seemed lost in a reverie of
sorrow. The knight, perceiving her distress, could not well understand
what had wounded her so deeply.

"Lady," said he, "a great sorrow seems to be yours. Reveal your grief
to me, and perchance I can find you comfort."

"Friend," replied the lady, "I grieve for your companions who are
gone. Never was lady or damsel served by four such valiant knights,
three of whom were slain in one single day. Pardon me if I call them
to mind at this time, but it is my intention to make a lay in order
that these champions and yourself may not be forgotten, and I will
call it 'The Lay of the Four Sorrows.'"

"Nay, lady," said the knight, "call it not 'The Lay of the Four
Sorrows,' but rather 'The Lay of the Dolorous Knight.' My three
comrades are dead. They have gone to their place; no more hope have
they of life; all their sorrows are ended and their love for you is as
dead as they. I alone am here in life, but what have I to hope for? I
find my life more bitter than they could find the grave. I see you in
your comings and goings, I may speak with you, but I may not have your
love. For this reason I am full of sorrow and cast down, and thus I
beg that you give your lay my name and call it 'The Lay of the
Dolorous Knight.'"

The lady looked earnestly upon him. "By my faith," she said, "you
speak truly. The lay shall be known by the title you wish it to be."

So the lay was written and entitled as the knight desired it should
be. "I heard no more," says Marie, "and nothing more I know. Perforce
I must bring my story to a close."

The end of this lay is quite in the medieval manner, and fitly
concludes th