appears as the sign of the singular, instead of being the sign of the
plural, and the nouns have cases.

The story must be as old as the end of the twelfth century, and must have
received its present form in Picardy. It is written, as you see, in
alternate snatches of verse and prose. The verse, which was chanted, is
not rhymed as a rule, but each _laisse_, or screed, as in the "Chanson de
Roland," runs on the same final assonance, or vowel sound throughout.

So much for the form. Who is the author? We do not know, and never
shall know. Apparently he mentions himself in the first lines:

"Who would listen to the lay,
Of the captive old and gray;"

for this is as much sense as one can make out of _del deport du viel
caitif_.

The author, then, was an old fellow. I think we might learn as much from
the story. An old man he was, or a man who felt old. Do you know whom
he reminds me of? Why, of Mr. Bowes, of the Theatre Royal, Chatteris; of
Mr. Bowes, that battered, old, kindly sentimentalist who told his tale
with Mr. Arthur Pendennis.

It is a love story, a story of love overmastering, without conscience or
care of aught but the beloved. And the _viel caitif_ tells it with
sympathy, and with a smile. "Oh, folly of fondness," he seems to cry;
"oh, pretty fever and foolish; oh, absurd happy days of desolation:

"_When I was young, as you are young_,