"How now, father, hast thou returned from the market? By my head, I will remember, whosoever may forget; so close is it to my heart. Didst thou not bargain with me when I armed me and fared into the press, that if God brought me again safe and sound, thou wouldst grant me sight of Nicolette, my sweet friend, so long that I might have with her two words or three, and kiss her once? Such was the bargain, so be thou honest dealer." "I," cried the father, "God aid me never should I keep such terms. Were she here I would set her in the flames, and thou thyself might well have every fear." "Is this the very end?" said Aucassin. "So help me God," said his father; "yea." "Certes," said Aucassin, "grey hairs go ill with a lying tongue." "Count of Valence," said Aucassin, "thou art my prisoner?" "Sire," answered the Count, "it is verily and truly so." "Give me thy hand," said Aucassin. "Sire, as you wish." So each took the other's hand. "Plight me thy faith," said Aucassin, "that so long as thou drawest breath, never shall pass a day but thou shalt deal with my father in shameful fashion, either in goods or person, if so thou canst!" "Sire, for God's love make me not a jest, but name me a price for my ransom. Whether you ask gold or silver, steed or palfrey, pelt or fur, hawk or hound, it shall be paid." "What!" said Aucassin; "art thou not my prisoner?" "Truly, sire," said the Count Bougars. "God aid me never," quoth Aucassin, "but I send thy head flying, save thou plight me such faith as I said." "In God's name," cried he, "I plight such affiance as seems most meet to thee." He pledged his troth, so Aucassin set him upon a horse, and brought him into a place of surety, himself riding by his side. Now is sung: