First he finds Kay asleep in his bed, then he comes to the bed of
the Queen, whom he adores and before whom he kneels, holding her
more dear than the relic of any saint. And the Queen extends her
arms to him and, embracing him, presses him tightly against her
bosom, drawing him into the bed beside her and showing him every
possible satisfaction; her love and her heart go out to him. It
is love that prompts her to treat him so; and if she feels great
love for him, he feels a hundred thousand times as much for her.
For there is no love at all in other hearts compared with what
there is in his; in his heart love was so completely embodied
that it was niggardly toward all other hearts. Now Lancelot
possesses all he wants, when the Queen voluntarily seeks his
company and love, and when he holds her in his arms, and she
holds him in hers. Their sport is so agreeable and sweet, as
they kiss and fondle each other, that in truth such a marvellous
joy comes over them as was never heard or known. But their joy
will not be revealed by me, for in a story, it has no place.
Yet, the most choice and delightful satisfaction was precisely
that of which our story must not speak. That night Lancelot's
joy and pleasure were very great. But, to his sorrow, day comes
when he must leave his mistress' side.
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