(Vv. 4551-4650.) Lancelot leaves the room in such a happy frame
that all his past troubles are forgotten. But he was so
impatient for the night to come that his restlessness made the
day seem longer than a hundred ordinary days or than an entire
year. If night had only come, he would gladly have gone to the
trysting place. Dark and sombre night at last won its struggle
with the day, and wrapped it up in its covering, and laid it away
beneath its cloak. When he saw the light of day obscured, he
pretended to be tired and worn, and said that, in view of his
protracted vigils, he needed rest. You, who have ever done the
same, may well understand and guess that he pretends to be tired
and goes to bed in order to deceive the people of the house; but
he cared nothing about his bed, nor would he have sought rest
there for anything, for he could not have done so and would not
have dared, and furthermore he would not have cared to possess
the courage or the power to do so. Soon he softly rose, and was
pleased to find that no moon or star was shining, and that in the
house there was no candle, lamp, or lantern burning. Thus he
went out and looked about, but there was no one on the watch for
him, for all thought that he would sleep in his bed all night.
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