Then said the damsel who rode in the middle to her neighbour on the right hand,--“Ah, Blanchefleur, how much happier are we now, and how changed is all for the better, since we have given over those wearisome contentions for the ring!”--“I could have beheld it always,” said the other, “as I do at this moment, suspended by the gold chain on your bosom, Gabrielle, nor ever felt disquiet or envy at the sight. Had it depended on me alone, you might have always retained it; nor would my brother’s silver-grey charger, on which you now ride, ever have become lame in consequence of such a combat.”--“Are you sorry then for the gallant grey?” answered Gabrielle; “methinks this were indeed without reason; for is it not better for him to be left thus under our kind and tender care, than to encounter all the hardships and accidents of your brother’s campaign against the Moors?”--“Nay,” said the damsel who rode upon the left, “who knows whether the tenderest care and indulgence can compensate to him for his absence from that path of danger and glory which is thus closed against him?” “How strangely you speak!” answered Gabrielle; “were it not that your words and looks are at other times so mild and gentle, I could almost think that you were a knight in disguise, and feel afraid to live with you.”--“Nay, say not so,” answered Bertha; “am I not thankful then for your kind hospitality and protection?--Are you not the betrothed bride of my cousin Otto, and for whom, in all the world, ought I to cherish more respect and love?”--Gabrielle sighed deeply at these words, and in thoughtful silence pressed the hand that Bertha had offered her. Then, lo! there came out of the thickets a squire, well mounted and handsomely attired. His velvet doublet shone with golden embroidery; his saddle and horse’s head-gear were hung with golden bells. Perceiving the ladies, he pulled up the reins, dismounted, and, kneeling before Gabrielle, said respectfully,--“Lady, my master, the Chevalier Folko de Montfaucon, begs permission to present himself before you, also to introduce here a noble captive, whom he has brought with him from Spain.”--A beautiful blush came over the damsel’s cheeks as she answered, waving her hand,--“Good squire, bid your master and his guest, in my name, heartily welcome. Tell them, moreover, that I am thankful for this bright weather, inasmuch as it has invited me abroad; and I am thus far on my way to meet them.”--Then the squire, after a courteous salutation, remounted his horse, and disappeared among the thickets of the forest. “Who can this guest be whom your brother is thus bringing to visit us?” said Gabrielle, turning to Blanchefleur.--“If, perchance, it were a minstrel,”--said the latter,--“but, no,” added she, “that were impossible;” and, with deep blushes, and eyes dim with tears, she looked down on the blue flowers,--emblems of hope and constancy, with which the turf was thickly interwoven.