The old thief went to a little door and opened it, whispering, "Come, father;" and there came out Brother Bonaccord of Lucca, very
solemn, vested in a frayed vestment.
"Young sir," he said, wagging a portentous finger, "you are of the
simple folk our good Father Francis loved. No harm should come of
this. And I pray our Lady that I never may play a worse trick on a
maid than this which I shall play now."
"We have no ring," said Prosper to all this prelude.
"Content you, my master," replied Matt-o'-the-Moor; "here is what you
need."
And he gave him a silver ring made of three thin wires curiously
knotted in an endless plait.
"The ring will serve the purpose," Prosper said. "Now, brother, at
your disposition."
Brother Bonaccord had no book, but seemed none the worse for that. He
took the ring, blessed it, gave it to Prosper, and saw that he put it
in its proper place; he said all the words, blessed the kneeling
couple, and gave them a brisk little homily, which I spare the reader.
There they were wedded.
Matt-o'-the-Moor at the end of the ceremony gave Prosper a nudge in
the ribs. He pointed to a heap of leaves and litter.
"The marriage-bed," he said waggishly, and blew out the light.
Isoult lay down on the bed; Prosper took off his body-armour and lay
beside her, and his naked sword lay between them.