Vainly the grooms and valets recall to him the solemnity of the day, and our Lord's commandment. "To the hunt," he cries; "We leave prayers to the priests and the women; such a fine hunting day is not to be missed." The steeds are ready; in the courtyard of the castle the hounds are baying. As Gaston gives the signal for departure, the old chaplain lays his hand on the courser's rein. "For the love of Heaven, Monseigneur!" cries he, "do not thus outrage God, nor so darkly stain your soul!" The headstrong baron strikes the priest, who, without flinching, offers again his old white head to the blow. "Strike again, Monseigneur; but, for pity of your soul, do not fail to hear mass to-day; else, evil will befall you." Again he is repulsed, and the young lord departs. Followed by his hounds and his servants, and blowing great blasts upon his horn, Gaston passes through a straggling village. Disdainfully he looks down on the good villagers, who salute him on their way to church. "Misfortune will come upon our lord," murmur the old men. "Great and powerful seigneur though he be, he insults and scorns a greater and more powerful than himself." Two wide roads meet upon the verge of the forest of Velours. There come two horsemen, riding swiftly as the wind, and place themselves each by Gaston's side. He on the right, mounted on a white horse, is radiant and of noble mien; his eyes shine with a heavenly light, and his clothing, glistening like snow, exhales a perfume sweeter than the meadows on a morning of Spring. The rider on the left is of sullen countenance, and swarthy of aspect; his glance stern and forbidding. His hair is blacker than the raven's wing; and his garments, darker than the night, emit an odour of sulphur. His steed glows like a flame of fire. "Friends," cries Gaston, "Welcome to you both. In happy hour you have come, to hunt the great woods with me. Fair fall us then! there is no sport, in heaven or on earth, like the chase--above all when we hunt in goodly company." The horseman on the right speaks: "Young seigneur, the bell calls you; listen to its plaintive note chiming, from far away, through the trees. Return; or misfortune will befall you. Let us kneel together at the altar of Christ. Already, before daybreak, I heard mass, and sang the Alleluia; willingly will I do so again by your side. Come! Our duty done, sweeter by far will be the pleasures of the chase." "Ride, noble baron, ride," cries the black horseman. "Do not listen to this ill counsellor. The bugle blast is finer music than the chiming of bells, and the hunt better pastime far than a dull priest's sermon, and the droning of hymns." "Well said, friend on my left!" cries Gaston. "Without offence to the white horseman, you are jovial company, after my own heart. We young lords want lively sport and merry jests; let us leave sermons and paternosters to the monks."