“Take it or leave it. Your word of honor, my lord, or devil take me if I fight at all.”
The Englishman again looked curiously at the young man. His face was livid, and his limbs quivered as though in extreme terror. Sir John, without understanding this strange dread, passed his word.
“Good!” exclaimed Roland. “This, you see, is one of the effects of my charming malady. The mere thought of surgical instruments, a bistoury or a lance, makes me dizzy. Didn’t I grow very pale?”
“I did think for an instant you were going to faint.”
“What a stunning climax!” exclaimed Roland with a laugh. “Our adversaries arrive and you are dosing me with smelling salts like a hysterical woman. Do you know what they, and you, first of all, would have said? That I was afraid.”
Meantime, the three new-comers having approached within earshot, Sir John was unable to answer Roland. They bowed, and Roland, with a smile that revealed his beautiful teeth, returned their greeting. Sir John whispered in his ear:
“You are still a trifle pale. Go on toward the fountain; I will fetch you when we are ready.”
“Ah! that’s the idea,” said Roland. “I have always wanted to see that famous fountain of Vaucluse, the Hippocrene of Petrarch. You know his sonnet?
“‘Chiari, fresche e dolci acque
Ove le belle membra
Pose colei, che sola a me perdona.’
This opportunity lost, I may never have another. Where is your fountain?”