“Last autumn, (so the stranger narrated,) the brave Knight of Montfaucon had, on account of a far-famed magic ring, entered the lists with a young German knight, and in that combat was, in a manner quite inexplicable, overcome and defeated. The fame of this battle had run like wild-fire over all France, and all the world now spoke of the victorious youth, who was named Otto; but as for his surname, he (the narrator) being a Frenchman, knew not well how to pronounce it.” Then he described minutely all circumstances of the battle between Sir Otto and the Knight of Montfaucon, while the minstrel struck thereto his harp chords in a vehement and cheering war-melody; but the old Sir Hugh looked thoughtful and melancholy, as if he heard but the mournful echo of Walter’s notes, but took no pleasure in their music. At length the stranger happened to say, “People have insisted that the young German has won his victory by incantations and witchcraft.” Thereupon the minstrel’s harp was silent; Sir Hugh’s dark eyebrows were more and more contracted, and he nodded to his friend with a mysterious expression, as if he would have said, “Ay, ay, I thought as much!” “But,” resumed the pilgrim, “no one any longer believes that calumny. On the word of Sir Folko himself, and of another renowned hero, the most distinguished knights in all France now throw the gauntlet of defiance at every one who ventures to maintain that ever the German knight had to do with witchcraft or necromancy!” With these welcome words the stranger concluded his intelligence; and not long after, offering many apologies on the score of fatigue from his long journey, he retired, accompanied by one of Sir Hugh’s confidential squires, to his chamber. No sooner had he departed, than the minstrel began a ballad in praise of Sir Otto, and in contempt of the base slanderers who had accused him of dealings with the devil; but Sir Hugh made him a sign that he should be silent. “It is not yet time for your triumphant songs,” said he; “no one knows better than I do, that Otto is a champion more powerful in the lists than Sir Folko de Montfaucon; for in their early youth I watched over both, and even then could tell what strength or weakness they would shew in after years. But a long dark shadow stretches along the path which Otto has to pursue; though that evil omen, perhaps, is but the work of my foreboding fantasy. Yet, alas! I cannot but remember his first combat, and first victory that took place at that mournful meeting, with Sir Heerdegen. Ask me no questions, good Walter, for in truth I am very sad, but let us now retire to bed, and, if possible, to sleep.” CHAPTER VI. How Sir Otto embarked with the Sea-monarch.