“Truly, madam,” said he, “that I may fight with him, for I am ashamed of my defeat.”
“Ah! Sir Percival,” said she, “I see that you have a great will to be slain as your father was through recklessness.”
“Madam,” said he, “it seems by your words that you know me.”
“Yes,” said she, “I ought to know you, for I am your aunt.”
Then Sir Percival wept, when he knew who she was.
“Ah! fair nephew,” said she, “when have you heard from your mother?”
“Truly,” said he, “not in a great while, but I often dream of her in my sleep.”
“Fair nephew,” said she, “your mother is dead; for after you set out on this quest, she fell into such sorrow that she soon died.”
“Now may God have mercy on her soul,” said he sadly, “for I was sorely afraid of it; but we must all change our life. Now, tell me, fair aunt, was that knight he who bore the red arms at Pentecost?”