Now beholding the scarred face of him, the tender, smiling lips, the
adoration in his grey eyes, she trembled amain and, swaying to him, rested
her hands on his mailed shoulders.
"Joconde," she whispered, "ah, Joconde--what dream is this?"
"Nay, beloved, the dream is ended and findeth me here at thy feet. The
dream is past and we do wake at last, for thy motley Fool, thy Duke and
lover am I, yet lover most of all. And thou who in thy divine mercy stooped
to love the Fool, by that same love shalt thou lift Duke Jocelyn up to thee
and heaven at last. And Oh, methinks the memory of thy so great and noble
love shall be a memory fragrant everlastingly."
So speaking, Duke Jocelyn rose, and with her hand fast in his, looked from
her loveliness round about him, blithe of eye.
"My lords," cried he, "behold my well-beloved, brave-hearted lady. Nobles
of Brocelaunde, salute your Duchess Yolande."
Hereupon was shout on shout of joyous acclaim, lost all at once in the
sweet, glad clamour of bells pealing near and far; so, hand in hand, while
the air thrilled with this merry riot, they crossed the wide courtyard, and
she flushed 'neath the worship of his look and he thrilled to the close,
warm pressure of her fingers--thus walked they betwixt the ranks of
men-at-arms and glittering chivalry, yet saw them not.
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