“That is a very proper question,” said he, “for my name happens to be one that has been favourably mentioned in every nation of the civilized globe.” “Yes, sir, I feel sure of it,” said I; for as he spoke his dignity grew of the finest nature. “You ask my name, good Spaniard; well now, what do you think of Richard Pendragon for a name?” “A truly fine name,” said I, being led to this statement by the love of politeness, although I am not sure that I did not feel it to be a very barbarous name after all. “Sir Richard Pendragon, knight; yes, by my hand, that’s a name! I have seen Goths and Arabs turn pale at it; it has been embraced by the foremost in valour; it has lain in the bed of queens. Yet the bearer of that name is gentle enough, by my soul; for it is the name of a good and true man, a simple knight, a valiant friend, a courteous enemy; a humble-minded seeker of light who is addicted to reading the stars and the works of nature. I have seen the wearer of this most inimitable name wipe the blood of a Barbary pirate off his sword with the hem of his pourpoint, and sit down and write a ballad. I have never seen his superior in female company. You may well ask my name, good Spaniard, for, without making a boast, which I abhor, where shall you find such performance united to such simplicity, such chaste austerity to such constancy in love? I tell thee, Spaniard, had I not been nurtured in humility, had I not been inducted to it by my sainted mother, even as the young kid is taught to bleat by the reception of its milk, I must have been a boaster, for I am of royal lineage, and the blood of kings flows under my doublet.” “Hombre de dios!” I cried excitedly, for my own brains seemed overmounted by his enthusiasm, “you have indeed a great name. I would love to hear of those kings of whom you appear to be such a worthy descendant.” “This is a proper curiosity, my honest youth. The name of my father is no less than Edward of England. I am his son, but not his heir. If every man walked according to his merit, the royal offspring that bespeaks you would have the crown of Great Britain tilted upon his left eyebrow at an angle of forty-five degrees.” “For what reason have you not, sir, if you are indeed the king’s son and the crown is yours in the course of nature?”