"
"Ah, Benedicta! what is love?"
"A joy that cometh but of itself, all unsought! This wisdom had I of a Fool
i' the forest. Go learn you of this same Fool and sigh not, dear wench."
"Nay, but," sighed Yolande, lovely cheeks a-flush, "what of Sir
Agramore--hath he not sworn to wed thee?"
"I do fear Sir Agramore no longer, Yolande, since I have found me one may
cope with him perchance--even as did a Fool with my Lord Gui of Ells upon a
tune. Art sighing again, sweet maid?"
"Nay, indeed--and wherefore should I sigh?"
"At mention of a Fool, belike."
"Ah, no, no, 'twere shame in me, Benedicta! A Fool forsooth!"
"Yet Fool of all fools singular, Yolande. And for all his motley a very
man, methinks, and of a proud, high bearing."
Here Yolande's soft cheek grew rosy again:
"Yet is he but motley Fool--and his face--marred hatefully--"
"Hast seen him smile, Yolande, for then--how, dost sigh again, my sweet?"
"Nay, indeed; but talk we of other matters--thy so sudden flight--tell me
all that chanced thee, dearest Benedicta.
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