spectators, with a strong suspicion who the Knight of the
Violet really was, and with a leaning to their own line, loudly
applauded each victory.

King Rene, long ago, had had to fight for his wife's inheritance with
this young man's father, who, supported by the strength of Burgundy, had
defeated and made him prisoner, so that he was naturally disinclined to
the match, and would have preferred the Hapsburg Duke, whose Alsatian
possessions were only divided from his own by the Vosges; but his
generous and romantic spirit could not choose but be gained by the
proceeding of Count Ferry, and the mute appeal in the face and attitude
of his much-loved daughter.

He could not help joining in the applause at the grace and ease of the
young knight, till by and by all interest became concentrated on the
last critical encounter with Sigismund.

Every one watched almost breathlessly as the big heavy Austrian, mounted
on a fresh horse, and the slim Lorrainer in armour less strong but less
weighty, had their meeting. Two courses were run with mere splintering
of lance; at the third, while Rene held his staff ready to throw if
signs of fighting _a l'outrance_ appeared, Ferry lifted his lance a
little, and when both steeds recoiled from the clash, the azure eagle of
the Tyrol was impaled on the point of his lance, and Sigismund, though
not losing his saddle, was bending low on it, half stunned by the force
of the blow. Down went Rene's warder. Loud were the shouts, 'Vive the
Knight of the Violet! Victory to the Allerions!'

The voice of Rene was as clear and exulting as the rest, as the heralds,
with blast of trumpet, proclaimed the Chevalier de la Violette the
victor of the day, and then came forward to lead him to the feet of the
Queen of France. His helmet was removed, and at the face of manly beauty
that it revealed, the applause was renewed; but as Marie held out the
prize, a splendidly hilted sword, he bowed low, and said, 'Madame, one
boon alone do I ask for my guerdon.' And withal, he laid the blue eagle
on his lance at the feet of Yolande.

Rene was not the father to withstand such an appeal. He leapt from his
chair of state, he hurried to Yolande in her gallery, took her by the
hand, and in another moment Ferry had sprung from his horse, and on the
steps knight and lady, in their youthful glory and grace, stood hand
in hand, all blushes and bliss, amid the ecstatic applause of the
multitude, while the Dauphiness shed t