He walked away, and the first persons that met his eye were the prince and the Count of Ferroll in conversation. It was sickening. They seemed quite gay, and occasionally examined together a paper which the prince held in his hand, and which was an official report by the heralds of the day’s jousting. This friendly conversation might apparently have gone on for ever had not the music ceased and the count been obliged to seek his partner for the coming dance.
“I wonder you can speak to him,” said Endymion, going up to the prince. “If the heralds had not—many think, too hastily—closed the lists this morning, you would have been the victor of the day.”
“My dear child! what can you mean?” said the prince. “I believe everything was closed quite properly, and as for myself, I am entirely satisfied with my share of the day’s success.”
“If you had thrown him,” said Endymion, “he could not with decency have contended for the golden helm.”
“Oh! that is what you deplore,” said the prince. “The Count of Ferroll and I shall have to contend for many things more precious than golden helms before we die.”
“I believe he is a very overrated man,” said Endymion.
“Why?” said the prince.
“I detest him,” said Endymion.
“That is certainly a reason why you should not overrate him,” said the prince.
“There seems a general conspiracy to run him up,” said Endymion with pique.