One evening, it was just when the eventful time drew near, the two damsels were again seated on the grass below the oleander-tree. The falcon had brought them a new letter, and had seated himself on the snow-white hand of the Lady Blanchefleur, who, to say the truth, was afraid of the bird; for she thought he might, from impatience, scratch her with his long talons. Meanwhile Gabrielle held the parchment in one hand, and the golden pencil, with which she was wont to write, in the other, but without setting one word on the rose-coloured leaf that she held before her. Blanchefleur begged of her not to delay, for fear that some one from the palace might come to interrupt them; “and,” added she, “write, if possible, in such manner to the brother of your faithful friend, that he may not utterly despair; or, if this cannot be, send him at least some words of consolation in his distress.” Gabrielle shook her head, with all its beautiful tresses, gravely and mournfully. She read once more the lines which Sir Folko had addressed to her, and which were indeed a love-sonnet, of which the sad music fell so deeply and movingly on her heart, that she began to weep bitterly. Blanchefleur wept also, and said anxiously, “And will you not send even one word in answer? Shall this brave knight encounter such dangers, and meet perchance death, for your sake, without even the consolation of knowing that you would even heave one sigh for his untimely fate?” Hereupon they heard the portal of the garden move on its hinges. They heard even the voice of Mutza; and the falcon shook his wings and looked round him impatiently. “Haste, oh haste!” whispered the now trembling Blanchefleur; “my poor brother will die of grief, if you send back his falcon without an answer.” Terrified, and scarcely knowing what she did, Gabrielle wrote upon the leaf two little verses, bidding Sir Folko “live for the sake of her who loved him;” and Blanchefleur, leaving her no time for reflection, fixed it in the falcon’s collar, which joyfully flew away swift as an arrow towards his master. Blanchefleur then fell upon her friend’s neck, and kissed her with affectionate gratitude. CHAPTER XXIII. Of two fearful combats, and the death of the Knight of Montfaucon. Just at this time, Theobaldo had arrived at the inn, which was now occupied by the Chevalier de Montfaucon, and where the latter had just loaded a sumpter-mule with a great store of richly-ornamented weapons, in order, in his character of a merchant, to appear with them before the grand emir, Nurreddin, who had commanded his attendance. But as Theobaldo, about an hour before, had discovered that the noble Castilian, Don Hernandez, had appeared with his galleys in the harbour, Sir Folko concluded that the emir might wait, and began to lay plans with the Italian for their flight and escape across the seas, even in the night of that same day.