lowers which grew on the mossy
parapet of the spring and binding them into a bouquet for the Clerk of
Mezlean.

The Seigneur Yves, passing by on his white steed at a hand-gallop,
observed her "with the corner of his eye," and conceived a violent
love for her.

The Clerk of Mezlean had been true to Azenor for many a day, but he
was poor and her parents would have none of him.

One morning as Azenor descended to the courtyard she observed great
preparations on foot as if for a festival.

"For what reason," she said, "has this great fire been kindled, and
why have they placed two spits in front of it? What is happening in
this house, and why have these fiddlers come?"

Those whom she asked smiled meaningly.

"To-morrow is your wedding-day," said they.

At this Azenor the Pale grew still paler, and was long silent.

"If that be so," she said, "it will be well that I seek my marriage
chamber early, for from my bed I shall not be raised except for
burial."

That night her little page stole through the window.

"Lady," he said, "a great and brilliant company come hither. The
Seigneur Yves is at their head, and behind him ride cavaliers and a
long train of gentlemen. He is mounted on a white horse, with
trappings of gold."

Azenor wept sorely.

"Unhappy the hour that he comes!" she cried, wringing her hands.
"Unhappy be my father and mother who have done this thing!"

Sorely wept Azenor when going to the church that day. She set forth
with her intended husband, riding on the crupper of his horse. Passing
by Mezlean she said:

"I pray you let me enter this house, Seigneur, for I am fatigued with
the journey, and would rest for a space."

"That may not be to-day," he replied; "to-morrow, if you wish it."

At this Azenor wept afresh, but was comforted by her little page. At
the church door one could see that her heart was breaking.

"Approach, my daughter," said the aged priest. "Draw near, that I may
place the ring upon your finger."

"Father," replied Azenor, "I beg of you not to force me to wed him
whom I do not love."

"These are wicked words, my child. The Seigneur Yves is wealthy, he
has gold and silver, chateaux and broad lands, but the Clerk of
Mezlean is poor."

"Poor he may be, Father," murmured Azenor, "yet had I rather beg my
bread with him than dwell softly with this other."

But her relentless parents would not hearken to her protestations, and
she was wed to the Lord Yves. On arriving at