ars upon his grave
when he declared that he would sleep content.

Though chanted in all earnestness this grave-yard ditty chimed not in
with the joyous temper of the company. There was sly nudging and
smiling, a snicker from an ill-mannered page, and the only sighs were
those of relief when he ended.

It was now the opportunity of Raymond of Toulouse. Besides being an
accomplished technician in all forms of writing he was a man of shrewd
and lively apprehension, and his wound had by no means injured his wits.
As he lay upon the litter engaging the sympathy of the ladies and the
leniency of the judges he had divined rightly the reason of the
discomforture of each of his rivals. He saw that Aldobrandino had made
shipwreck by reason of his indifference to the charms of all, and des
Baux on account of his zeal for one at the expense of the others, for
not a single protestation of esteem, not a compliment even had any one
of Sancie's sisters received, and this in face of the well known fact
that all were beautiful and eager for appreciation.

In avoiding the conspicuous lapses of his predecessors Raymond with all
his guile fell into another pitfall. He lauded the Rose, the Daisy, the
Garland of Vine Leaves worn by Eleanor, Marguerite, and Beatrice in
three canzonets so perfect in form, so exquisite in diction that they
rivalled the ditties of Thibault of Champagne, who was hitherto
accounted as having written "the most delightful and most melodious
canzonets that at any time were heard."

But in doing this he exhausted all terms of endearment and admiration
which he could command, and when he attempted to celebrate the Peach
Blossom he could only repeat utterances already made, so that his
conclusion was an anticlimax, bad in art and unfortunately giving the
impression that he was more enamoured of Sancie's sisters than of
herself.

The insincerity of his graceful verse was apparent to all. Sordello and
Boniface who had nodded their appreciation at the conclusion of the
first, second, and third canzonets, scowled and coughed at the fourth,
and though there was applause sufficient to gratify this poet's vanity
it misled him as to the impression which he had made upon his judges.

Richard knew not that Raymond had over-shot his mark; it seemed to him
that he had surely won, and that it was useless for him to offer his
halting verses, save as a tribute of genuine feeling. Such they were,
and honesty even in literature an