"Here we are lost!" cried the young girl laughing merrily. "And if night overtakes us, what a terrible thing!"
"And you laugh at such a plight?"
"Is it that thou art afraid, and thou a soldier?" But immediately the handsome face of Thetralde assumed an uneasy look and she observed: "Does thy wound hurt thee, my brave companion?"
"I am not thinking of my wound. I am only uneasy at perceiving that the mist grows still thicker. How can we regain our route? Whither could we go?"
"But I do wish to speak of thy wound," replied Charles' daughter with infantine impatience. "Why is not thy arm any longer protected by a scarf, as it was yesterday?"
"It would have incommoded me in the chase."
Thetralde quickly detached her long belt of Tyrean silk and held it out to Vortigern. "Take this, my belt will take the place of thy scarf, and sustain thy arm."
"It is unnecessary, I assure you."
"Bad boy!" cried Thetralde, holding out her belt to Vortigern; and fixing upon him her beautiful blue eyes, almost imploringly said: "I beg of thee; do not refuse me!"
Vanquished by the timid and loving look, the young Breton accepted the scarf; but as he held the reins of his horse with one hand he found it difficult to fasten the belt into a scarf-band around his neck.