For a moment Thetralde and Vortigern again relapsed into silence. With a slight touch of vexation the young girl once more resumed the conversation:
"Thou art very quiet—"
"I know not what to say—"
"Nor I either; and yet I was dying with the wish to speak to thee—what is thy name?"
"Vortigern."
"I am called Thetralde—pronounce my name."
"Thetralde—"
"I love to hear thee pronounce my name."
"Where do you think the hunt is now?" asked the young Breton with increasing uneasiness. "It will be difficult to find the hunters. The mist grows ever denser."
"Should we lose ourselves," Thetralde replied laughing, "I do not know the paths of the forest."