There was a strange air over it all,
like the breathless moment in a tourney when the tucket has blown and
the knights pause before giving spur. My lady, when she spoke at all,
spoke in a voice as of some one stifling, but my lord said never a
word and ate and drank but little, his eyes always on my lady's face.
Bye-and-bye up came two little meat pasties, borne by the fat cook
himself, who charged me with a certain one for my lady and another for
my lord. I thought nothing whatever on this, for often there was
special pasty made for my lady without hare's meat, which she
disliked. So I served the pasties, and I remember the faint sweetness
of her garments, like wind from apple-blossoms, and how yellow was her
hair and how clear her face in the light of the many tapers. That
course, too, they ate in silence, but before I could take away the
dishes, my lord broke the stillness.
"Lady," quoth he, "is the flavor of this pasty pleasing to thy
palate?"
"Ay, sir," spake my lady, "it hath a piquant savor I have not met
before."
"Lady," said he, "it is fashioned of passing good meat and rare, so
rare that I doubt thou wilt ever enjoy its like again.
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