The Princess Audiart won the game of chess, won fairly. “You couch a good lance and build a good house, Lord Stephen,” she said. “Yesterday, it was I who was vanquished!” Guida had moved away, joining the group about the girl on the silk cushion. Stephen the Marshal took one of the ivory chessmen in his hand and turned it from side to side. “Montmaure!” he said. “Montmaure grows more puffed with pride than mortal man should be!” The princess nodded. “Yes. My lord count sees himself as the great fish for whom the ocean was built.” The marshal put down the chess-piece and took up another. “Have you ever seen Jaufre de Montmaure?” “No.” “I saw him at Périgueux. He is tall and red-gold like his father, but darker in hue. He has a hawk nose, and there is a strange dagger-scar across his cheek.—What is it, my Lady Audiart?” The princess was sitting with parted lips and with eyes that looked far away. She shivered a little, shrugging her shoulders. “Nothing! A fancy. I remembered something. But a-many men have dagger scars.—Jaufre de Montmaure! No, I think that I never saw him. Nor do I wish to see him. Let him stay with Aquitaine and be his favourite!” “I know not how long that will last. Now they are ruthless and reckless together, and they say that any day you can see Richard’s arm around his neck. But Duke Richard,” said the marshal, “is much the nobler man.” The princess laughed. “You give faint praise! Jesu! If what they say of Count Jaufre be true—” There fell a silence. Stephen the Marshal turned and turned the chess-piece. “The prince will send me presently with representations to King Philip at Paris.” “I know. It seems wise to do that.” “I will do my best,” said Stephen the Marshal; and sat silent again. Then, “I will find at Paris festivals and tourneys, no doubt, and for Roche-de-Frêne’s honour and my own, I must play my part in those matters also.” He put down the chess-piece, and brought his hands together. “Queens and princesses may accept, in courtly wise, heart and _devoir_ of true knights! My Lady Audiart! I plead again for some favour of yours that I may wear. For, as God lives, I will wear no other lady’s!” The Princess Audiart looked at him kindly, a little mockingly, a little mournfully. “Stephen—Stephen! will you be a better or a braver man, or a fitter envoy to King Philip, with my glove in your helmet? No, you will not!” “I should be a happier man,” said Stephen the Marshal. “Then almost I wish that I might give it to you! But I cannot—I cannot!” said the princess. “I love earth, fire, air and water, the stars in heaven, the people of the earth, and the thoughts in the mind, but I love no man after the fashion that men desire!—Turn elsewhere, Lord Stephen!” But Stephen the Marshal shook an obstinate head. “Saint Mark, my witness, I shall wear no other’s favour!”