t. But look to your prisoner, Sir Eustace."

Eustace turned to see what had become of his illustrious captive, and
saw him at a little distance, speaking to a Knight on horseback. "Sir
Eustace," said Bertrand, stepping towards him, "here is Sir William
Beauchamp, sent by the Prince to inquire for your gallant brother, and
to summon me to his tent. I leave you the more willingly that I think
you have no mind for guests this evening. Farewell. I hope to be
better acquainted."

Eustace had little heart to answer, but he took up Du Guesclin's sword,
as if to return it to him. "Keep it, Sir Knight," said Bertrand, "you
know how to wield it. I am in some sort your godfather in chivalry,
and I owe you a gift. Let me have yours, that my side may not be
without its wonted companion. Farewell."

"And, Sir Eustace Lynwood," said Sir William Beauchamp, riding up, "you
will advance to Navaretta, where we take up our quarters in the French
camp. I grieve for the loss which has befallen us this day; but I
trust our chivalry has gained an equally worthy member."

Eustace bowed and, whilst Messire Bertrand mounted a horse that had
been brought for his use, turned back to his own melancholy duties. The
body of Sir Reginald was raised from the ground, and placed on the
levelled lances of four of his men, and Eustace then assisted Gaston to
rise. He tottered, leant heavily against the young Knight, and was
obliged to submit to be lifted to the saddle; but neither pain, grief,
nor faintness could check his flow of talk.

"Well, Eustace,--Sir Eustace, I would say,--you have seen somewhat of
the chances of war."

"The mischances you mean, Gaston."

"I tell you, many a man in this host would have given his whole kindred
for such luck as has befallen you. To cross swords with Du Guesclin is
honour enough. This cut will be a matter of boasting to my dying day;
but, to take him prisoner--"

"Nay, that was no merit of mine. Had not the rest come up, my wars had
soon been over, and I had been spared this grief."

"I know what most youths would have done in your place, and been
esteemed never the worse. Dropped the pennon at that first round blow
that brought you to your knee, and called for quarter. Poor pennon, I
deemed it gone, and would have come to your aid, but before I could
recover my feet, the fight was over, and I am glad the glory is wholly
yours. Knighted under a banner in a stricken field! It is a chance
which