ruby worth a hundred ducats. The lists
were run, and after the last blare of trumpet and clatter of charger's
hoof, the two judges, one of them being the Lord of Fluxas, came to
Bayard with the prize. He, blushing, refused this great honor, saying he
had done nothing worthy of it, but that in all truth it belonged to
Madame de Fluxas, who had lent him the muff and who had been his
inspiration. The Lord of Fluxas, knowing the chivalry of this great
knight, felt no pang of jealousy whatever, and went straightway to his
lady, bearing the prize and the courtly words of the champion. Madame de
Fluxas, with secret joy but outward calm, replied: "Monseigneur de
Bayard has honored me with his fair speech and highbred courtesy, and
this muff will I ever keep in honor of him." That night there was
feasting and dancing in the halls, next day, departure. The knight went
to take leave of his lady, with heavy heart, and many bitter tears they
shed. This honest love endured until death parted them, and no year
passed that presents were not exchanged between them.

So there was a social life at this time and place which was filled with
refinement and courtesy, and it centred about the ladies of the courts.
Each troubadour, and many of them were brave knights as well, sought to
sing the praises of his lady, devote himself to her service, and do her
bidding in all things great and small. There was a proverb in Provence,
it is true, which declared that "A man's shadow is worth a hundred
women," and another saying, "Water spoils wine, carts spoil roads, and
women spoil men"; but, in spite of all this, devotion to women was
developed to a most unusual degree, and there was even an attempt made
to fix the nature of such soft bondage by rule and regulation. Southern
natures were so impetuous that some checks upon the practice of this
chivalric love seemed to be imperative, as thinking people felt that
love should not go unbridled. Justin H. Smith, who has written so
entertainingly of the _Troubadours at Home_, says that it was their
expedient to make love a "science and an art. Rules were devised, and
passion was to be bound with a rigid etiquette like that of chivalry or
social intercourse. It was to be mainly an affair of sentiment and
honor, not wholly Platonic to be sure, but thoroughly desensualized.
Four stages were marked off in the lover's progress: first, he adored
for a season without venturing to confess it; secondly, he adored as a