On their arrival at Castle Liet, Raimon and the poet are hospitably received by the noble Lord Robert de Tarascon and his wife, the Lady Agnes, sister of Lady Margarida. Raimon, whose friendly offers to Guillem the reader no doubt fully appreciates, takes an early opportunity of cross-questioning his sister-in-law on the delicate subject of her lover, without, however, mentioning a name. But the lady is equal to the occasion. She has seen by Guillem’s expression, that some mischief must be brewing, and, knowing of her sister’s attachment, she at once sides against the jealous husband. She admits having a lover, and, when asked as to his identity, names Guillem without a moment of hesitation, and much to the relief of Raimon. Her husband, when told of the intrigue, fully approves the lady’s conduct, and both combine, in various ways, to further convince Raimon of a guilty intimacy between Guillem and the lady of Tarascon. So well do they succeed, that on his return home Raimon goes at once to tell his wife of his discovery; much to the dismay of that lady, as the reader need not be told. Guillem is summoned before his indignant mistress, and denies his guilt; his innocence being confirmed by the statement of the lady of Tarascon. Margarida is satisfied, but nevertheless bids Guillem declare in a song that to none but her is his love devoted. In answer to this summons Guillem writes the celebrated canzo, ‘Li dous cossire qu’em don’ amors soven’ (The sweet longing that love often gives to me); one of the most beautiful and most impassioned lyrics ever penned, and, alas! his last.[21] For Raimon, when he hears the song, at once fathoms its meaning. His fury now is boundless, but once more he curbs it, to poison the sting of his revenge. He again meets Guillem in a lonely place, slays him, severs the head from the body, tears out the heart, and with these dreadful trophies secretly returns to the castle. The heart he has roasted,[22] and at dinner asks his wife to partake of it. After she has eaten he discloses the terrible secret and simultaneously produces the gory head of her lover, asking her how she liked the flavour of the meat. The lady’s answer is noble and of tragic simplicity. ‘It was so good and savoury,’ she says, ‘that never other meat or drink shall take from my mouth the sweetness which the heart of Guillem has left there.’ The exasperated husband then rushes at her with his drawn sword, and she, flying from him, throws herself from a balcony, and dies.