“Dost thou then think,” said she, and her voice was full of anger, which yet it seemed as she would hide, “that I am not pleasant to look upon? Verily no man hath yet said so unto me, though many have turned away from me, because I spoke unto them the truth!” “Now surely thou sayest the thing that is not so!” said the knight, for he was grieved to think she should speak the truth but of contention, and not of love to the same, inasmuch as she also did seek that men should praise her. “Truly I say that which is so,” she answered. Then was the knight angered, and spake to her roughly, and said unto her, “Therefore, woman, will I tell thee that which thou demandest of me: Verily I think of thee as one, to my thinking, the worst favoured, and least to be desired among women whom I have yet looked upon; nor do I desire ever to look upon thee again.” Then laughed she aloud, and said to him, “Nay, but did I not tell thee thou didst not dare speak the thing to my face? for now thou sayest it not to my face, but behind thine own back!” And in wrath the knight turned him in his saddle, crying, “I tell thee, to thy ill-shaped and worse-hued countenance, that--” and there ceased, and spake not, but with open mouth sat silent. For behind him he saw a woman the glory of her kind, more beautiful than man ever hoped to see out of heaven. “I told thee,” she said, “thou couldst not say the thing to my face!” “For that it would be the greatest lie ever in this world uttered,” answered the knight, “seeing that verily I do believe thee the loveliest among women, God be praised! Nevertheless will I not go with thee one step farther, so to peril my soul’s health, except, as thou thyself hast taught me to inquire, thou tell me thou lovest the truth in all ways, in great ways as well as small.” “This much will I tell thee,” she answered, “that I love thee because thou lovest the truth. If I say not more, it is that it seemeth to me a mortal must be humble speaking of great things. Verily the truth is mighty, and will subdue my heart unto itself.” “And wilt thou help me to do the truth?” asked the knight. “So the great truth help me!” she answered. And they rode on together, and parted not thereafter. Here endeth the story of the knight that spoke the truth. Lady Joan ceased, and there was silence in the chamber, she looking back over the pages, as if she had not quite understood, and Cosmo, who had understood entirely, watching the lovely, dark, anxious face. He saw she had not mastered the story, but, which was next best, knew she had not. He began therefore to search her difficulty, or rather to help it to take shape, and thereon followed a conversation neither of them ever forgot concerning the degrees of truth: as Cosmo designated them--the truth of fact, the truth of vital relation, and the truth of action. CHAPTER XXIX. NEW EXPERIENCE.