“Fox me no foxes! Here is the case of Ralph de Coventry,” replied Sir Godfrey, looking learned, and seating himself on a barrel of beer. “Ralph pleaded before the Judge saying, ‘et nous lessamus nostre faucon voler à luy, et il le pursuy en le garrein,’—’tis just your position, only ’twas you that pursued and not your falcon, which does not in the least distinguish the cases.”
“But,” said Geoffrey again, “the Dragon started not on your premises.”
“No matter for that; for you have pursued him into my warren, that is, my cellar, my enclosed cellar, where you had no business to be. And the Court told Ralph no matter ‘que le feisant leva hors de le garrein, vostre faucon luy pursuy en le garrein.’ So there’s good sound English law, and none of your foppish outlandishries in Latin,” finished the Baron, vastly delighted at being able to display the little learning that he had. For you see, very few gentlemen in those benighted days knew how to speak the beautiful language of the law so fluently as that.
“And besides,” continued Sir Godfrey suddenly, “there is a contract.”
“What contract?” asked Geoffrey.
“A good and valid one. When I said this morning that I would give my daughter to the man who brought me the Dragon alive or dead, did I say I would give him the Dragon too? So choose which you will take, for both you cannot have.”
At this Elaine turned pale as death, and Geoffrey stood dumb.
Had anybody looked at the Dragon, it was easy to see the beast was much agitated.
“Choose!” said Sir Godfrey. “’Tis getting too cold to stay here. What? You hesitate between my daughter and a miserable reptile? I thought the lads of France were more gallant. Come, sir! which shall it be? The lady or the Dragon?”
“Well,” said Geoffrey, and his blood and heart stood still (and so did Elaine’s, and so did another person’s), “I—I—think I will choose the l—lady.”