“No, he did not, papa,” Miss Elaine put in. “He only mentioned another way of getting rid of this horrible Dragon. Now, papa, whatever you may say about—about my heart and hand,” she continued firmly, “I am going to meet the Monster alone myself, to-night.”
“That you shall not,” said Sir Godfrey.
“A hundred times no!” said a new voice from the crowd. “I will meet him myself!”
All turned and saw a knight pushing his way through the people.
“Who are you?” inquired the Baron.
The stranger bowed haughtily; and Elaine watched him remove his helmet, and reveal underneath it the countenance of a young man who turned to her, and——
Why, what’s this, Elaine? Why does everything seem to swim and grow misty as his eye meets yours? And why does he look at you so, and deeply flush to the very rim of his curly hair? And as his glance grows steadier and more intent upon your eyes that keep stealing over at him, can you imagine why his hand trembles on the hilt of his sword? Don’t you remember what the legend said?
“Who are you?” the Baron repeated, impatiently.
“I am Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers,” answered the young man.
“And what,” asked Father Anselm, with a certain irony in his voice, “does Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers, so far away from his papa in this inclement weather?”