"Amen, my son, so be it, if it be God who sends thee," replied the Prior.
"My lord, my lord," cried Michel, "remember the Sire of Valeri! Proud will he be, and loud his boast that fear of him has moved you to this. You know his outre-cui-dance!"
"O my worshipful lord!" exclaimed the timid page, bursting into tears, "think of your lady-mother!"
"I think of the salvation of my soul more than of all else," replied the chevalier.
"Silence, good friend!" said the prior, as Michel appeared about to attempt another remonstrance; "and you, my son, seat yourself here by my side, and tell me what has induced you to seek this peaceful sanctuary."
The young knight arose and placed himself on the wooden bench by the monk; then, keeping his eyes steadfastly bent to the ground as if to avoid the sight of his two weeping retainers, "Reverend Father," he said, "most bitter is the remembrance of the past; for the last time will I recount the evil thoughts and deeds that once seemed so natural to me. For many a year all Brittany has resounded with the feuds of the Lords of Montorgueil and the Sires of Valeri; bitter has been the hatred and bloody the strife between these two proud houses; but I will not recall past outrages—let me relate only the last deadly wrong that filled my heart with unspeakable thirst of vengeance.
"Twelve days have not yet expired since the passage of arms at Rennes; the Sire of Valeri was there at the head of a numerous company of his partisans, and defied me to single combat, with many a vain and bragging word. I accepted his challenge, resolved to be the victor or die. The onslaught was terrible, for we were equal in strength and skill, and we long parried each other's thrusts. Forced at last to pause to take breath, the Sire of Valeri proposed a truce.
"'Let us meet a month hence,' he cried, 'with twenty good men each, and end our quarrel.'
"'Why should we adjourn till another day what can be so well ended now?' I replied; 'our swords will be no sharper and our hate no hotter. No, may my spurs be hacked off my heels by your basest varlet, ere I consent to sheathe again my sword before one of us fall!' Then again fast and furious fell our blows until the traitor knight making a feint, struck me before I had time to cover and I fell. 'Yield!' cried my exulting foe. 'Never! Never!' I replied. 'Then die the death!' and he raised his weapon.