He had counted upon this. Rising, he bowed to the Count and his daughter, and began: “In the month of Arcady Green the summer meadows be,-- When the dawn with fingers light Lifts the curtains of the night, And from tented crimson skies Glorious doth the sun arise,-- Who are these who give him greeting, On swift wings approaching, fleeting,-- Who but birds whose carols bring Homage to their gracious King! “Lo! the Queen of Arcady From the land of Faery Gladdens our adoring eyes, Fair and gentle, sweet and wise, Her companions here on earth Love and Loyalty and Mirth! Who, the joyous tidings hearing, Fly to greet her, now appearing? Aphrodite's pigeons fleet,-- See, they gather at her feet.” No one had heard a low clear call from the boughs of the tree overhead, or seen the figure of a small boy in a fantastic tunic of goatskins, slipping down the tree-trunk near Ranulph. As the company rose from the table the troubadour moved away a little, still thrumming his refrain, and in that moment there was a whir of sudden wings and the air was dark with pigeons. As the birds alighted Lady Philippa was surrounded by the pretty creatures, and in a graceful little speech Ranulph presented to her Peirol as a Faun, the Master of the Pigeons, who had brought them to do homage to their sovereign lady. It was just the sort of informal pageant to delight the heart of Provence. No more dainty and captivating interlude had been seen at a festival. There was a great deal of wonderment about the way in which the scene had been arranged, but it was really quite simple. According to the usual fashion the guests were seated on only one side of the table, the other side being left free for the servants to present the various dishes. The company faced the river, and the trees that canopied the table were behind them. Nothing, therefore, hindered Peirol from luring his pigeons to a point within hearing of his voice, and concealing himself in the thick leafage until Ranulph gave the signal for them to be brought upon the stage. Most of the afternoon was spent in watching and discussing Peirol and the pigeons. “A pigeon has certain advantages,” observed Gualtier Giffard, as he and the troubadour, sitting a little way from the others, watched the carriers rise and circle in the air. “He need only rise high enough to see his goal,--and fly there.” “Pity but a man might do the same,” said Ranulph lightly. The eyes of the two young men met for an instant in unspoken understanding. Under some conditions they might have felt themselves rivals. But neither the penniless younger son of a Norman house, nor a landless troubadour of Avignon, had much hope of meeting Count Thibaut's views for his only daughter.