take in making such a proposal to me. I shall not agree to it
in any wise." The Count's ire began to rise. "You disdain to love me,
lady?" says he; "upon my word, you are too proud. Neither for flattery
nor for prayer you will do my will? It is surely true that a woman's
pride mounts the more one prays and flatters her; but whoever insults
and dishonours her will often find her more tractable. I give you my
word that if you do not do my will there soon will be some sword-play
here. Rightly or wrongly, I will have your lord slain right here before
your eyes." "Ah, sire," says Enide, "there is a better way than that you
say. You would commit a wicked and treacherous deed if you killed him
thus. Calm yourself again, I pray; for I will do your pleasure. You
may regard me as all your own, for I am yours and wish to be. I did not
speak as I did from pride, but to learn and prove if I could find in you
the true love of a sincere heart. But I would not at any price have you
commit an act of treason. My lord is not on his guard; and if you should
kill him thus, you would do a very ugly deed, and I should have the
blame for it. Every one in the land would say that it had been done with
my consent. Go and rest until the morrow, when my lord shall be about
to rise. Then you can better do him harm without blame and without
reproach." With her heart's thoughts her words do not agree. "Sire,"
says she, "believe me now! Have no anxiety; but send here to-morrow your
knights and squires and have me carried away by force. My lord will rush
to my defence, for he is proud and bold enough. Either in earnest or in
jest, have him seized and treated ill, or strike his head off, if you
will. I have led this life now long enough; to tell the truth. I like
not the company of this my lord. Rather would I feel your body lying
beside me in a bed. And since we have reached this point, of my love you
may rest assured." The Count replies: "It is well, my lady! God bless
the hour that you were born; in great estate you shall be held." "Sire,"
says she, "indeed, I believe it. And yet I would fain have your word
that you will always hold me dear; I could not believe you otherwise."
Glad and merry, the Count replies: "See here, my faith I will pledge to
you loyally as a Count, Madame, that I shall do all your behests. Have
no further fear of that. All you want you shall always have." Then she
took his plighted word; but little she valued or cared for it, excep