Then the noble maiden answered, 'Sir Knight, had another told This tale, methinks that scarcely for truth I the words might hold, 170 That thou in one day hadst ridden a journey that scarce in twain My swiftest squire could compass, tho' his charger he spurred amain! Thy host was my mother's brother; his daughter's youthful glow, It hath paled before the sorrow which she, e'en as I, must know. For many sad days and mournful, with sad eyes we've wept our fill 175 I, and the maid Liassé--Wouldst thou show to thy host goodwill? Then thou shalt with us, man and woman, this night-tide our sorrow share, Thou shalt serve him thereby; and I'll tell thee the want we perforce must bear.' Then out spake her uncle Kiot, 'Lady, I send to thee Twelve loaves of bread, and of shoulders and hams do I give thee three, 180 And eight cheeses too are with them, and two casks of wine I trow, And my brother, he too shall aid thee, of such aid hast thou need enow!' And Manfilot spake, 'Yea, Lady, I send thee the self-same fare.' And the maiden she sat in gladness, and of thanks she no word would spare. Then leave they craved from their lady, and forth would the old men ride 185 To their hunting-house that was nigh there--But the cell where they would abide, Was in Alpine wilds so lonely, there unarmed did they dwell afar, And never a foeman vexed them with tumult or strife of war. And the messenger sped full swiftly, and the fainting folk were fed, No Burger within the city but was lacking for other bread, 190 And many were dead of hunger ere food for their need was found. Then the queen she bade them share it to the feeble folk around, With the cheese, the flesh, and the red wine, as Parzival counsel gave, Scarce a morsel was left, yet they shared it, the queen and her guest so brave. And swiftly the store had vanished, tho' to many who yet might live, 195 Nor were slain by cruel hunger this succour fresh life might give. Then they bade them a couch make ready for the guest, and 'twas soft his bed, (Had the Burgers been hawks for the hunting methinks they were not o'er-fed As their scanty board bare witness) yea, the folk there, one and all, Bare the marks of bitter hunger, save the gallant Parzival. 200