conqueror sat still erect on his charger, and the multitudes doubted
whether ever another champion could be found to face him, three blasts
of a trumpet were heard, faint at first, but at every moment ringing
more clearly, until a knight in pink armor rode into the lists with his
visor down, and riding a tremendous dun charger, which he managed to the
admiration of all present.

The heralds asked him his name and quality.

"Call me," said he, in a hollow voice, "the Jilted Knight." What was it
made the Lady of Barbazure tremble at his accents.

The knight refused to tell his name and qualities; but the companion
who rode with him, the young and noble Philibert de Coquelicot, who
was known and respected universally through the neighborhood, gave a
warranty for the birth and noble degree of the Jilted Knight--and Raoul
de Barbazure, yelling hoarsely for a two-hundred-and-fourteenth lance,
shook the huge weapon in the air as though it were a reed, and prepared
to encounter the intruder.

According to the wont of chivalry, and to keep the point of the spear
from harm, the top of the unknown knight's lance was shielded with
a bung, which the warrior removed; and galloping up to Barbazure's
pavilion, over which his shield hung, touched that noble cognizance with
the sharpened steel. A thrill of excitement ran through the assembly at
this daring challenge to a combat a l'outrance. "Hast thou confessed,
Sir Knight?" roared the Barbazure; "take thy ground, and look to
thyself; for by heaven thy last hour is come!" "Poor youth, poor youth!"
sighed the spectators; "he has called down his own fate." The next
minute the signal was given, and as the simoom across the desert, the