But here the Princess interrupted him.
‘I thank you, Sir Knight, for your information, but just now the tournament is waiting for you, and I am not very fond of geography lessons.’
The Knight bowed again, and retired to take up his place in the lists.
‘How very handsome he is!’ said the Princess to one of her maids in waiting.
And the lady answered:
‘Oh, quite too handsome!’
However, by this time both the knights were in their places, and the Princess nodded to the heralds to give the signal.
‘Laissez aller,’ they cried, which is the French for ‘Go.’
And they did go with a vengeance—they went so fast that they looked all blurred together like streaks of lightning. And when they met, it was louder than thunder, louder than the shock of avalanches, louder than—well, louder than everything you ever heard, except perhaps when some one lets the tea-tray fall down the kitchen stairs.
And when the dust cleared up, the poor Knight of India was rolling on the ground in a heap, composed of himself and his horse. But the Princess did not seem very sorry for him—so wags the world.