him, he was obliged to raise his arm to put it round the handle.

He then had to return to his throne, which was not done without some
difficulty, encumbered as he was, but Osmond held up the train of his
mantle, Sir Eric kept the coronet on his head, and he himself held
fast and lovingly the sword, though the Count of Harcourt offered to
carry it for him. He was lifted up to his throne, and then came the
paying him homage; Alan, Duke of Brittany, was the first to kneel
before him, and with his hand between those of the Duke, he swore to
be his man, to obey him, and pay him feudal service for his dukedom
of Brittany. In return, Richard swore to be his good Lord, and to
protect him from all his foes. Then followed Bernard the Dane, and
many another, each repeating the same formulary, as their large
rugged hands were clasped within those little soft fingers. Many a
kind and loving eye was bent in compassion on the orphan child; many
a strong voice faltered with earnestness as it pronounced the vow,
and many a brave, stalwart heart heaved with grief for the murdered
father, and tears flowed down the war-worn cheeks which had met the
fiercest storms of the northern ocean, as they bent before the young
fatherless boy, whom they loved for the sake of his conquering
grandfather, and his brave and pious father. Few Normans were there
whose hearts did not glow at the touch of those small hands, with a
love almost of a parent, for their young Duke.

The ceremony of receiving homage lasted long and Richard, though
interested and touched at first, grew very weary; the crown and
mantle were so heavy, the faces succeeded each other like figures in
an endless dream, and the constant repetition of the same words was
very tedious. He grew sleepy, he longed to jump up, to lean to the
right or left, or to speak something besides that regular form. He