Lorenzo turned towards him with a cynical smile; but, before he could reply, there was a gay, ringing laugh came up from the gorge into which they were just descending, and two ladies, followed by several servants, some with falcons on their hands, some carrying dead game across their saddles, came cantering up. They glanced towards Lorenzo as they approached, and, at first did not seem to recognize him; but the next moment the younger exclaimed, "Dear mother, it is the young Seigneur Visconti. Give you good day, my lord--give you good day. We cannot stay to greet you; but turn your horse and ride back with us, for the roof of our chateau is a better covering for your head than yonder black cloud. Mother, make him come." Lorenzo carelessly turned his horse as the gay and beautiful girl spoke, and a few words of common courtesy passed between him and the Marquis de Chaumont. But Eloise de Chaumont would have her part in the conversation, and she exclaimed, "Come, Seigneur Visconti, put spurs to your steed and show your horsemanship. I am going home at full gallop, otherwise the plumes in my beaver will be as draggled as those of the poor heron that my bird struck in the river. The haggard kite would not wait for him to tower. On! on! I will bet you my last embroidered hawking-glove against an old gauntlet that my jennet reaches the castle first." Thus saying, she applied the whip somewhat unmercifully to her horse, and Lorenzo put spurs to his. The race was not very equal, for Lorenzo's hackney was tired with a long journey and hard riding; but still the young knight kept up side by side with his fair companion till they came to a narrow pass between a high cliff and a deep dell, where Lorenzo somewhat drew in the rein to leave the lady better room. "Ay," she exclaimed, "I shall beat you. See, your horse is out of breath. Spur up, spur up, or the day is mine." Whether Lorenzo did imprudently use the spur, or that the horse shied at something on the way, I do not know, but in trying to regain his place by the lady's side the hackney (as lighter horses were then called) swerved from the centre of the road and trod upon the loose stones at the side. They gave way beneath his feet and went rattling down into the glen, while the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled around. The gallant beast made a strong effort to recover his footing, but it was in vain; the ground yielded beneath his hoofs, and he fell down the slope, rolling over his master as he went. "Jesu Maria!" cried Eloise de Chaumont, with a scream, "I have killed him."