He has time for a single nod and grateful look to the tart-seller, who waves him off with a laugh as Marian pulls him onward, her hand tugging at his elbow. As she speaks, he looks up at the pole and the brightly colored ribbons which wait, tied around it.

It brings an image of dancing fauns, laughing to the lilt of pan-pipe and drum, of graceful dryads and Maenads. He has a visions of Marian dancing with flowers in her hair, and it makes him smile. "Will you dance there, lady, when the time comes?"