A short distance apart from these groups two figures were engaged in conversation, one of whom appeared to be the leader of the party. He was a tall, powerful man, apparently little more than thirty years of age; he seemed to have been inured to toil and danger; and his manner, at once graceful and dignified, gave the idea of one who had been bred up alternately in the camp and the court from his earliest years. His countenance was handsome, but nevertheless unpleasing; for its features indicated a knowledge of the world which partook strongly of dissimulation, and a valour which would not scruple to exert itself in a bad cause. His dress was a mailed shirt, unadorned by any extraneous decoration; but the richly wrought hilt of the dagger which he wore by his side proved that he was a person of no ordinary rank. His attendant was an esquire, who appeared to receive with much deference the communications of his superior. Reginald and his attendant were immediately conducted into the presence of this chieftain. He had been conversing with his companion in a manner and tone of much hauteur; but when, upon turning round, he beheld the heroes of my story, every appearance of this kind immediately vanished; his brow was in a moment perfectly calm, and his look wore all the pliability and condescension which an able diplomatist knows so well how to assume. “Sir Knight,” he began, “I am, it is true, a stranger to thee, but I have confidence that those features, and that bearing, bespeak one of the house of d’Arennes.” Reginald bowed, in token of acquiescence; and his new acquaintance (who, by-the-by, had received pretty certain intelligence beforehand of the rank of the person he was addressing) proceeded: “The disturbed state of our realm, Sir Knight, must be my excuse for a measure which courtesy would else have shrunk from. It must also excuse the interrogation which it constrains me to put. With what purpose hast thou journeyed hither?” Reginald seemed not sufficiently recovered from his surprise to make reply. Robin answered for him, “Marry, with the purpose of journeying back again.” “Thou wouldest do well to keep thy counsel, friend,” said the querist; “thy flippant tongue might elsewhere procure thee a cap and bells; but here, trust me, it will exalt thee to little else than the bough that waves over my head. I would pray of thee,” he continued to Reginald, “brief answer and speedy.” Reginald seemed somewhat roused from his torpidity by the overweening tone in which he was addressed: “Hither I came,” he said, “with the purpose of a bridal, and in bridal garment; mantle and cap have I already exchanged for hauberk and helm; and, by thy goodwill, wedding and wassail will briefly be transmuted to quarrel and fray.”