ath riven away from me
And in the darkness set--
The maid that I may never see,
Or gain, or e'er forget._"

It was on the following day, near Bazas, these two encountered Adam de
Gourdon, a Provencal knight, with whom the Prince fought for a long
while, without either contestant giving way; and in consequence a
rendezvous was fixed for the November of that year, and afterward the
Prince and de Gourdon parted, highly pleased with each other.

Thus the Prince and his attendant came, in late September, to Mauleon,
on the Castilian frontier, and dined there at the _Fir Cone_. Three or
four lackeys were about--some exalted person's retinue? Prince Edward
hazarded to the swart little landlord as the Prince and Miguel lingered
over the remnants of their meal.

Yes, the fellow informed them: the Prince de Gatinais had lodged there
for a whole week, watching the north road, as circumspect of all
passage as a cat over a mouse-hole. Eh, monseigneur expected some one,
doubtless--a lady, it might be--the gentlefolk had their escapades like
every one else. The innkeeper babbled vaguely, for on a sudden he was
very much afraid of his gigantic patron.

"You will show me to his room," Prince Edward said, with a politeness
that was ingratiating.

The host shuddered and obeyed.

Miguel de Rueda, left alone, sat quite silent, his fingertips drumming
upon the table. He rose suddenly and flung back his shoulders, all
resolution to the tiny heels. On the stairway he passed the black
little landlord.

"I think," the little landlord considered, "that Saint Michael must
have been of similar appearance when he went to meet the Evil One. Ho,
messire, will there be bloodshed?"

But Miguel de Rueda had passed to the room above. The door was ajar.
He paused there.

De Gatinais had risen from his dinner and stood facing the door. He,
too, was a blond man and the comeliest of his day. And at sight of him
awoke in the woman's heart all of the old tenderness; handsome and
brave and witty she knew him to be, past reason, as indeed the whole
world knew him to be distinguished by every namable grace; and the
innate weakness of de Gatinais, which she alone suspected, made him now
seem doubly dear. Fiercely she wanted to shield him, less from carnal
injury than from that self-degradation she cloudily apprehended to be
at hand; the test was come, and Etienne would fail. Thus much she knew
with a sick, illimitable surety, and