A slaty-blue pigeon was already pecking at Ranulph's pointed scarlet shoe
for a grain lodged there. The troubadour bent down, held out his hand, and
the bird walked into it. He had played with birds often enough in his
vagabond early years to know their feelings. But now a wave of merry
voices broke upon the garden paths.

"Peirol," he said, "I will see you again. I have a little plan for you and
the pigeons which will, I think, give pleasure to Lady Philippa."

One of the entertainments arranged to take place was a feast out of doors,
in a woodland glade especially suited to it. Ranulph's inspiration had to
do with this.

Among the guests the only stranger was Sir Gualtier (or Walter) Giffard,
younger son of a Norman family. One of his ancestors had gone to England
with Duke William a hundred years before, but the family had not been on
good terms with later kings and its fortunes had somewhat fallen. Every
one, however, spoke with respect of this knight and his elder brother, Sir
Stephen, and they had been of service to Count Thibaut during his stay in
England. This Giffard had never been so far south before, and he seemed to
feel that he had got into some sort of enchanted realm. He was more
soldier than courtier, but his eyes said a great deal. The luxurious
abundance of a Provencal castle, the smooth ease of the serving, the wit
and gaiety of the people, all were new to him. He had attended state
banquets, but they were as unlike the entertainment here provided as was
the stern simplicity of his boyhood home in Normandy, or the rough-and-
tumble camp life of recent years.

The out-of-door dinner was not a hap-hazard picnic, but neither was it in
the least stiff or formal. The servants went by a short cut across the