"But where does he live? Shall I not see him again?"

"Montemar is on the bank of the Epte, in the domain that the French
wrongfully claim from us. He lives there with his mother, and if he
be not yet returned, you shall see him presently. Osmond, go you and
seek out the lodgings of the young Montemar, and tell him the Duke
would see him."

Richard had never had a playfellow of his own age, and his eagerness
to see Alberic de Montemar was great. He watched from the window,
and at length beheld Osmond entering the court with a boy of ten
years old by his side, and an old grey-headed Squire, with a golden
chain to mark him as a Seneschal or Steward of the Castle, walking
behind.

Richard ran to the door to meet them, holding out his hand eagerly.
Alberic uncovered his bright dark hair, bowed low and gracefully, but
stood as if he did not exactly know what to do next. Richard grew
shy at the same moment, and the two boys stood looking at each other
somewhat awkwardly. It was easy to see that they were of different
races, so unlike were the blue eyes, flaxen hair, and fair face of
the young Duke, to the black flashing eyes and olive cheek of his
French vassal, who, though two years older, was scarcely above him in
height; and his slight figure, well-proportioned, active and agile as
it was, did not give the same promise of strength as the round limbs
and large-boned frame of Richard, which even now seemed likely to
rival the gigantic stature of his grandfather, Earl Rollo, the
Ganger.