"What! have you already forgotten it, my father? By my head! forget it who will, I shall remember it. What! my father, do you not remember, that when I consented to arm myself, and go and fight this count's people, it was on condition that, if God should bring me out of the battle unhurt, you would let me see my darling sweetheart, Nicolette, and say two or three words to her, and kiss her once? As you promised this, my father, so you must perform." "I hear," replied the count; "but I do not understand. It is impossible that I ever promised anything so foolish. Why, if your Nicolette was here, I should burn her without pity, and you yourself might expect the same fate." "Is that all, my father?" said Aucassin. "Yes," replied the count. "_Certes_" replied the boy, "I am very sorry to see a man of your age such a liar!" Then he turned towards the Count de Valence, and said to him, "Count de Valence, are you not my prisoner?" "Certainly." "Give me your hand, then, I beg you." "Gladly," replied the count; and he placed his hand in Aucassin's. Aucassin replied, "Count de Valence, pledge me your faith that, whenever you have the wish or the power to shame my father, or to hurt him, in his person or in his goods, you will do so." "_Pardieu_, sir! do not mock me, but name my ransom. Ask for gold or silver, horses or palfreys, dogs or birds, and I will try to give you what you ask. This is another thing." "What!" cried Aucassin, "do you not own yourself my prisoner?" "Indeed I do," cried the Count de Bougars. "Well, if you will not take the oath I demand, your head shall fly off." "Enough! I take the oath you exact," said the count quickly. Then Aucassin ordered a horse for him, mounted another, and led him to a place of safety. [_Now they sing it._] Now when the Count Garin Finds out that Aucassin His darling sweet Will not forget, His darling of the charming face, He claps him in a dungeon, In a cellar underground, All walled in with heavy stones, Built double thick around; And my wretched Aucassin So sad as now had never been. "Oh, my darling Nicolette!" In his misery said he, "My darling dear of charming face, My darling _fleur de lis_, My darling sweeter than the grape, My darling, list to me, Imprisoned in this horrid place. "The other day a pilgrim gray From Limousin had made his way, And on the straw the poor man lay, So sick was he, and near to die. But Nicolette passed by his door. The pilgrim heard my darling's feet Pit-pat across the floor; He saw my darling's little cloak Her cape so white, her ermine bright; And though no word she spoke, Yet, when he saw my darling sweet, The poor old pilgrim raised his head, And, cured by her, he left his bed, And took his staff, and took his way, And found his home once more.