There is yet one other important character in which I should wish to introduce the lady of Provence to the gentle reader. It has already been pointed out that to her influence the refinement of manners and the high conception of the duties of gallantry in the early middle ages are mainly due. But nowhere did her gentle sway exercise a more irresistible power than in that truest domain of womanhood—love. This love was little restrained in Provence by the legitimate bounds of marriage, but it was not altogether lawless for that reason. There were certain rules of conduct instinctively felt rather than definitely formulated, but which, nevertheless, no lady or gallant cavalier could transgress with impunity. Discretion, for instance, was a demand most strictly enforced by these self-imposed laws of the loving community. No lady of good feeling would have accepted the services of a knight who had failed in this respect to a former mistress. Neither was it thought compatible with correct principles for a lady to deprive another lady of her lover. Inquiries into the antecedents of intended _cicisbeos_ were of frequent occurrence, and only when a troubadour could prove his ‘being off with the old love’ could he hope for a favourable reception of his vows. We indeed know of one case at least where a lady, although herself desirous of the services of a poet, effected his reconciliation with a rival beauty. But this loyal feeling did not extend to that bugbear and scapegoat of gallant society in Provence—the husband. No amount of verbal falsehood or hypocrisy was thought unjustifiable in the endeavour to dupe his well-founded suspicion. His resentment of injuries received was, on the other hand, punished by the general interdict of polite society. Such, at least, is the no doubt somewhat high-coloured picture drawn by Provençal poets and romancers.