"To avenge my father, who lies dead in the wood; and Beatrice, who has already perhaps been dishonoured by Don Suero—may God curse him, and may this lance soon pierce him through!"
"May it be so!" replied the farmer, embracing the young man, who, throwing the lance across his shoulder, went forth from the house and disappeared in the darkness.
Martin walked a long distance through the dark woods, until he came to another house, situated in the midst of large and fertile meadows.
This house, or rather stable, belonged to Don Suero, and in it was kept a magnificent stud of horses, the property of the count, which also had the use of the meadows, and of which a single groom had the care.
Martin struck a heavy blow on the door of the stable.
"Who is there?" called out the groom.
"Open, if you do not wish me to break in the door, and your head as well."
The groom considered himself too weak to resist a man who spoke in such a way. He opened the door, trembling, and said—
"Pardon, sir cavalier."
"I am not a cavalier," interrupted Martin; "but I want to be one. Get out the best horse you have in the stables."