Pierrot was so delighted that he clapped his hands, and declared he was quite sure his lord would win the prize, and shame the Count William into everlasting silence. Then he helped himself to a couple of great golden oranges from a basket he had just brought to Reynaurd, and strutted out to air himself, and to boast to Henri of his master’s superior skill. Meantime, Count Reynaurd sang over and over his new song, each time roaring it out louder and louder, till his lungs fairly ached. While all this was going on, the Count William, in a great rage, was still striding up and down the floor of his chamber, which happened to be across the corridor and at no great distance from that of the happy Reynaurd. And, as it happened also, when Pierrot went out he forgot to close the door behind him—a fact which Count Reynaurd had not noticed. The door was very thick and heavy, and fitted badly between the stone walls, so it was not to be wondered at that Pierrot did not manage to latch it. As it was, the loud voice of Count Reynaurd came rolling forth, and suddenly the Count William, angrily pacing the floor, stood stock-still and pricked up his ears. Now, the count’s ears were famous for being extraordinarily sharp, and he was also wonderfully apt at remembering anything to which he had once carefully listened. He knew in a moment the voice of Count Reynaurd, and then a broad smile crept over his face, and he listened harder than ever. As Reynaurd kept singing over and over again, it was not long till Count William had the whole song by heart, and then, seizing his own lute, he began practising it very softly. “Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed to himself. “Thou great foolish Reynaurd! Canst thou never learn how to hold thy tongue? But never mind, I will play such a trick on thee as will teach thee a lesson thou’lt not soon forget. Ha, ha, ha!” And then he practised longer, till he knew both the poetry and music as well as Count Reynaurd himself. The next day, Pierrot, still exulting over his master’s skill, happened to meet Henri in the garden, and asked how his noble lord was getting on. “Oh!” said Henri, “finely. He has just made a lovely new song!” And with that he hummed a snatch of the melody he had heard Count William singing, and which he thought his master had composed. As Pierrot heard the music he could scarce believe his ears; first he was speechless with astonishment, but at last he sputtered out: “It is not true—it is stolen! That is my dear master’s, the Count Reynaurd’s!” “Pierrot,” burst in Henri, “I would have thee understand that my noble lord, the Count William, does not steal, and is a far better singer, anyhow, than thy great Reynaurd!” From this matters went from bad to worse, till the two little pages were just on the point of coming to blows; but, fortunately, at this point one of King René’s seneschals caught sight of them, and, hastening up, gave each a sound cuff on the ear, crying out as he did so: