only drove the cloud of
madness from his mind, but gave him back all his old might and
comeliness of body.

Then, ashamed of his frenzy, and anxious not to be known, Lancelot
assumed the name of the Chevalier Mal Fet, or the knight who has
trespassed, and took up his abode with Elaine and many knights and
ladies at a castle given him by King Pellam. This stood on an island in
the midst of a deep and clear lake, which Lancelot named the Joyous
Isle. And now, filled again with martial fervor, he made it known far
and wide that he would joust with any knights that came that way, and
that any one who should put him to the worst would receive as a prize a
jewel of worth and a jerfalcon.

But none won the prize, though very many noble knights jousted with the
Chevalier Mal Fet.

Last of all came Percivale and Hector, who had been long in search of
Lancelot. Learning the challenge, Percivale jousted with Lancelot, and
afterwards they fought with swords. So long and even was their combat,
that a length both paused for breath. And now Percivale, wondering who
this sturdy knight could be, told his name, and asked for his in return.
At this, Lancelot threw away his weapon, and took his late opponent in
his arms, crying out that he was Lancelot du Lake.

Glad was the meeting between these old friends and comrades, and richly
were the new-comers entertained in the castle. But in the end they
persuaded Lancelot to go with them to Camelot, and the disconsolate
Elaine was left to return, with her knights and ladies, to her father's
castle.

After these events years came and went, until many summers and winters
had passed over England's fair isle, and age had begun to lay its hand
on those who had been young, while those who had been children grew up
and became knights and ladies. Then came at length the time fixed by
destiny for the adventure of the Sangreal. And thus this adventure
began.

When again approached the vigil of Pentecost, and all the fellowship of
the Round Table had come to Camelot, and the tables were set to dine,
there rode into the great hall a gentlewoman of noble aspect, whose
horse was white with sweat and foam.

She saluted Lancelot and begged him to go with her, though whither and
for what purpose she would not say. Stirred by his love of adventure, he
armed and rode with her, and before the day's end reached an abbey of
nuns in a secluded valley. Here, as he stood conversing with the abbess,
there came