The visor of the casque was closed. Gottfried raised it, and saw the
pale and bloody countenance of a man, still young, whose features
expressed courage and valor.

He had fallen under his horse, in whose side was found the point of a
lance which had killed him; and the whole body of his steed had covered
and crushed one of his limbs. The right hand of the chevalier still
grasped the handle of a sword of which the blade was broken.

Gottfried and his servants looked on some moments. The light of the
torches shone on the rich armor of the chevalier and on the
gold-embroidered housing of his horse, and it seemed as if its
brilliancy must open his closed eyes and re-animate his motionless
limbs.

Erard kept close to his grandfather and a little behind him. He wept
gently, but not with fear--it was with grief and sorrow,--and he
repeated, in a low voice, "They have killed him! The wicked men!"

"Perhaps he still lives," said Gottfried, kneeling and placing his ear
to the chevalier's mouth. "Raise him! Loose him!" exclaimed he, rising
hastily. "He is not dead!"

"He is not dead! he is not dead!" repeated Erard; and he began with all
his little force to push the body of the dead horse, which the three men
raised, and from beneath which they at last disengaged the leg of the
chevalier. It was bruised against a stone which had torn the flesh, and
the blood was flowing from it copiously.

"Water!" cried Gottfried, unlacing the armor of the chevalier and taking