"I must not conceal from you the fact that that thief of a Simon has been an archer. He is a dangerous man. Everybody is afraid of him."
"Pretty hostess, there is another custom I have when I am to plead a case. I never inquire how my adversary fights. In that way I never form in advance a plan of attack, frequently frustrated in practice. I have a quick and correct eye. Once on the arena, I size up my man, fall to, and decide on the spot whether to thrust or to cut. I have ever congratulated myself on this manner of pleading. You may rely upon me. The tourney does not open till noon; my arms are in good condition and my horse is eating his provender. Let's drink a glass: Long live joy, my pretty hostess! and good luck to the good cause!"
"Oh, helpful champion! If you gain my process I shall give you three florins. It would not be paying too much for the pleasure of seeing the scamp of a Simon the Hirsute brought to grief!"
"Agreed! If I gain your process you will give me three florins and a smacking kiss for good measure, if you like!... Agreed?"
"Oh, Sir, such things are not said."
"Well, then, I shall give you the smacking kiss, seeing the other plan embarrasses you. But by all the devils, your forehead remains troubled. Why so? You needed a champion, and heaven—as you said—sends you one who is impatient to sail into the thief, and yet your pretty forehead keeps its wrinkles!"
"I should be satisfied, and yet my heart is heavy. I want to tell you all about it."
"Have you, perchance, some other process, or some unfaithful lover? You may speak freely to me."
Alison remained for a moment sad and silent, whereupon she resumed with painful voice.
"Sir champion, you come from Paris; you must be very learned. Perhaps you may render a service to a poor lad who is much to be pitied, and who also must himself do battle to-day in a judicial duel, but under very sad circumstances."