"My lord, Your Excellency and all the others are astonished at what Philippe began and I have finished, and you've all mocked him. The reason for it, since Your Highness wants to know, is that the most Christian kings of France, because of all the blessings they've received from the immense goodness of Christ our Lord, began this tradition: Before any of their children entered the order of chivalry, they were not allowed to eat the first loaf of bread that was put in front of them at dinner until they had cut it into twelve slices, and placed a silver "real" on each one, and had given it to the poor in memory of the twelve apostles. Then, after the order of chivalry had been bestowed on them they would put a piece of gold on each slice. And even down to today everyone in the house of France continues the custom. And, my lord, that's why Philippe cut the bread and made twelve slices, one for each apostle." "Praise God," said the king, "that sort of charity is the most beautiful I've ever heard of. I'm a crowned king and I don't give as much in alms in a month." Dinner came, and the infanta told Tirant to go back and eat. Philippe saw what he had done wrong and how discreetly Tirant had remedied it, and he was very careful with the meal, and ate only as the infanta did. When they left the table, the infanta began to talk to one of her ladies whom she deeply trusted, and with a little anger mixed with love, she began to lament: "Look at what a sad state I'm in, to have this Tirant as the enemy of my desires: I can't talk alone to Philippe for even an hour. Tell me, Tirant, why do you make me so mad? You must know how nice it is to be alone with the person you love. Now, poor me, when I want to sleep I cannot, night is longer than I would like it to be, nothing that I eat tastes sweet to me--instead it's as bitter as gall. If this is life, what can death be?" And the love-struck maiden lamented, tears flowing from those eyes that had sparked many flames in Philippe's heart. While the infanta had this sad face, the king and his brother, the Duke of Messina, came into her chambers. When they were in the room the king, seeing such grief in her face, said to her: "What's wrong, my daughter? Why are you crying?" "And don't I have reason to, Sire? Your Grace is about to leave. What am I to do all alone? Who will be here to console me? How will my soul find peace? The king tenderly consoled his daughter as best he could. Then they went to the queen. The four held counsel, and the king said: "I beg you, Duke, tell me what you think of this marriage with Philippe." "Sire," said the duke, "since Your Highness and Philippe are going on this holy pilgrimage, I feel that this marriage should take place only with the consent of his father and mother."