ar. He was mounted on a small white
ass with a halter of hemp, to signify his contempt for them. Lorgnez,
his chief foe, came against him with a troop of warriors, while Morvan
had only his little squire behind him. The foemen came on, ten by ten,
until they reached the Wood of Chestnuts. For a moment the little
squire was dismayed, but a word from his master rallied him, and,
drawing his sword, he spurred forward. Soon they came front to front
with Lorgnez and hailed him in knightly fashion.

"Ho! Seigneur Lorgnez, good day to you."

"Good morrow, Seigneur Morvan. Will you engage in single combat?"

"No; I despise your offer. Go back to your King and tell him that I
mock him; and as for yourself, I laugh at you and those with you.
Return to Paris, stay among your women, take off your mail and put on
the silken armour of fops."

Lorgnez's face flamed with anger.

"By heaven!" he cried, "the lowest varlet in my company shall hew your
casque from your head for this!"

At these words Morvan drew his great sword.

* * * * *

The old hermit of the wood heard some one knocking on the door of his
cell. He opened it quickly and saw the young squire standing before
him. He started back at the sight of the youth's blood-stained armour
and death-pale countenance.

"Ha, my son," he cried, "you are sorely hurt. Come and wash your
wounds at the fountain and repose for a little."

"I may not rest here, good father," replied the squire, shaking his
head. "I have come to find water to take to my young master, who has
fallen in the fight. Thirty warriors lie slain by his hand. Of these
the Chevalier Lorgnez was the first."

"Brave youth!" said the hermit. "Alas that he has fallen!"

"Do not grieve, father. It is true that he has fallen, but it is only
from fatigue. He is unwounded and will soon recover himself."

When he was recovered Morvan betook him to the chapel of St Anne and
rendered the gifts he had promised her.

"Praise be to Saint Anne," cried he, "for she it is who has gained
this victory."

_The King's Blackamoor_

One day the King of the Franks was sitting among his courtiers.

"Would that some one would rid me of this pestilent Morvan, who
constantly afflicts the Frankish land and slays my doughtiest
warriors," he said, on hearing of a fresh exploit on the part of the
Breton chief.

Then the King's blackamoor, who heard these words, arose and stood
before his master.