cataract down the rock, the shell from the howitzer, each warrior rushed
from his goal.

*****

"Thou wilt not slay so good a champion?" said the Grand Duke, as at
the end of that terrific combat the knight in rose armor stood over
his prostrate foe, whose helmet had rolled off when he was at length
unhorsed, and whose bloodshot eyes glared unutterable hate and ferocity
on his conqueror.

"Take thy life," said he who had styled himself the Jilted Knight; "thou
hast taken all that was dear to me." And the sun setting, and no other
warrior appearing to do battle against him, he was proclaimed the
conqueror, and rode up to the duchess's balcony to receive the gold
chain which was the reward of the victor. He raised his visor as the
smiling princess guerdoned him--raised it, and gave ONE sad look towards
the Lady Fatima at her side!

"Romane de Clos-Vougeot!" shrieked she, and fainted. The Baron of
Barbazure heard the name as he writhed on the ground with his wound, and
by his slighted honor, by his broken ribs, by his roused fury, he swore
revenge; and the Lady Fatima, who had come to the tourney as a queen,
returned to her castle as a prisoner.

(As it is impossible to give the whole of this remarkable novel, let it
suffice to say briefly here, that in about a volume and a half, in which
the descriptions of scenery, the account of the agonies of the baroness,
kept on bread and water in her dungeon, and the general tone of
morality, are all excellently worked out, the Baron de Barbazure