'I may say enthusiastically,' he added.
Not a sound.
'Precisely,' said the king, ever tactful. 'And now—you were saying?'
'I am Yvonne, the daughter of Earl Dorm of the Hills,' said the damsel, 'and my father has sent me to ask protection from a gallant knight against a fiery dragon that ravages the country-side.'
'A dragon, gentlemen,' said the king, aside. It was usually a safe draw. Nothing pleased the knight of that time more than a brisk bout with a dragon. But now the tempting word was received in silence.
'Fiery,' said the king.
Some more silence.
The king had recourse to the direct appeal. 'Sir Gawain, this Court would be greatly indebted to you if—'
Sir Gawain said he had strained a muscle at the last tournament.
'Sir Pelleas.'