Gabrielle threw an inquiring look on Sir Otto. It seemed as if she doubted if his youth and inexperience admitted of such an encounter; then again, by the changed expression of her features, one could read the return of confidence, as if one so young and simple-hearted were sent like a guardian angel for her defence. “Are you not the youth,” said she, “with whom I once spoke on the banks of the Danube?” “Truly I am the same,” replied Sir Otto in a low voice; “and now stand here in order to redeem the pledge which I then called Heaven to witness.” Gabrielle looked on him kindly, yet it seemed as if she once more began to doubt and hesitate. The Knight of Montfaucon again interposed, saying, “Lady, will you then choose this noble youth for your champion? It is not my custom to propose an encounter with a young and powerless adversary, but with this knight I should willingly enter the lists.” Thereafter the Lady Gabrielle gracefully pulled off her glove from her snow-white hand, and tied it firmly to Sir Otto’s sash. “Thus,” said she, “on your sword I bind my hopes and the just rights of my inheritance!” then, in a low, half-audible tone, she added, “and Gabrielle will be the reward of the victor.” He thought of returning some answer, when near him he heard the murmuring tones of another voice, low, and yet ardent, like the melodious cooing of a turtle-dove. Looking up he beheld a form of the most exquisite grace leaning over the shoulder of Sir Folko, a form in which, from the descriptions which he had heard, he immediately recognised the Lady Blanchefleur; so that he could now well believe all that the knight had narrated to him of his mother’s matchless and imperishable beauty. In spite of death and the grave the same charms were thus renewed once more, living and smiling on the world. Blanchefleur now bent her head humbly towards Gabrielle, and whispered,--“I have but one dearly-loved brother, and must he thus, even to the very end of his life, be engaged in strife and contention, all for the sake of that trifling ring? Shall I never be enabled to call him with certainty my own? Rather, noble lady, let the present battle be decisive, so that the question may be for ever set at rest; and, if my brother falls, then the ring is yours. On the contrary, should your champion be unfortunate, let all pretensions to the ring be given up on your part; only let this contest be final. Pray you, listen to this request, for you have too much generosity to wish that this unequal contest should be kept up any longer!” It was obvious to the by-standers, that Gabrielle now underwent a conflict with her own emotions. At last she looked up kindly, and said,--“Let it be so!” Then, turning to Sir Otto of Trautwangen, she added, with a mixture of fear and dignity of manner, “Sir Knight, my whole weal and woe are intrusted in your hands; and on your valour and generosity I have the fullest reliance.” “May we not then directly enter the lists,