As Argathona spoke a frown grew and deepened on the face of Esclaramonde. "What are you saying?" she whispered. "An old tale of Thebes," the dryad replied. "You know not such notions. Yet 'tis a pity. Here is your lord, the unhorsed knight, will be your fellow forever and a day, while I, who overtumbled him, must willy-nilly be gone to-morrow. If he were to sleep to-night how should it harm him? He would not hear us speak in the starlight." The duchess waved her hand impatiently as if in dismissal. "You are a mad lad; ride where you will." "As you please," Argathona replied, "yet I have a toy here I would give to any fair who was gentle with me." If the duchess was greedy of love, she was greedy also of lovely things. "What toy?" she cried, eagerly. Argathona put her hand to her girdle and held out on extended palm a small, perfectly fashioned apple of pure gold. "This golden apple. See, it is pure gold, and see, writ on it in the Greekish script, 'To the most fair.' This was the globe Paris gave to Venus and set Troy burning. She who has it will ever be deemed the loveliest in the eyes of men. I will give this to you to-night if we talk together in the starlight." The duchess propped her chin on her palm and meditated. There came before her mind a diverting picture of her late lord, the ancient Duke of Thebes, dozing hoggishly in his corner while she talked with another in the starlight. The young knight of Athens was fair, but very surely this young knight of Eleusis was fairer, and, after all, if he rode away to-morrow there would be an age-long time to pass in the company of Duke Baldwin's son. She decided quickly. "Well, have your will if I win the golden apple. Come to the west postern of the palace to-night. I will see to it that the door is ajar. Mount the stair when I show a light from the window. Be very sure you bring the apple with you. Farewell."