Many knights intended to compete in this tournament. Hence, that sea-shore near Palermo was gay as a garden with colored tents, bright gold, shining armor, and brave knights, sumptuously attired. But no braver knight, more bravely attended, nor surrounded with more magnificence, was there than the unknown, whose arrival had created such a stir in the gorgeous camp. This unknown knight, as he came from the tent erected for him in the centre of his people’s brilliant little encampment, was the observed of all observers. “Dost know who he is?” “Wherefore comes he?” “I have heard that he will take part in the tournament.” Calmly the unknown knight came amongst the host of gentlemen, bowing and smiling gravely. They made way for him--nay, some drew forward stools, and soon the whole body of knights were seated about tables, more or less magnificent, as the owner knight was rich and brave, or brave only. But he who drew on him as much attention as the unknown knight himself, was his companion, a tall, solemn-looking man. His brow was heavy and dark, his step slow, firm, and yet light; no color was in his face, his lips were pale and thin, and the veins of his forehead could be traced--a deep blue color wandering beneath his skin. His eyes were mournful, his hair fell about his head in deep, waving folds, and a kind of settled despair seemed to hang upon him, and weigh him down. This companion of the unknown knight was dressed in garments of sombre hue, which hung in beautiful sweeping folds about his person. His hands were delicate and white, and had in them a trembling motion, which was at great variance with the close, firm mouth--little, small, delicate hands, beautiful to look upon, and yet, somehow, they looked like claws, the fingers seemed to turn so naturally to the palms. The knights commenced drinking and dicing at the various tables. Still the stranger knight and his companion sat by themselves at their table of bright metal, inlaid with a winding pattern of jet. Suddenly the companion whispered the knight, who thereupon, with a smiling face, turned to the body of gentlemen and saluted them, raising his goblet to them, and emptying it at a draught. The knights readily responded to the appeal, and the next moment began conversing gaily with the two strangers. The conversation, however, was soon interrupted by the arrival of two men, the one a squire of the stranger knight, the other a simple-looking country fellow, carrying his cap in his hand, and looking about him bashfully. “Sire,” said the squire, softly, “this pilgrim is a songster, and he cometh from Normandy.” “Normandy--dear, dear Normandy,” said the young knight, and as he spoke the words he looked handsomer than before. “_Dear_ Normandy,” said the grave, noiseless companion, as the hand lying on the table twitched. “_Dear_ Normandy--I thought she had driven thee from her soil.”