As to Le Borgne Basque, he betook himself to the buttery; and there,
in an undertone of great terror, began to mutter to his friend and
ally, Tristan de la Fleche, "It is all over with us! He is a wizard!
Sir Leonard Ashton was right--oaf as he was; I never believed him
before; but what, save enchantment, could have enabled him to
recognize me under this disguise, or how could he have gone straight
to yonder door?"

"Think you not that he had some warning?" asked Tristan.

"Impossible, save from Clarenham, or from Ashton himself; and, dolt
as he is, I trow he has sense enough to keep his own counsel. He
has not forgotten the day when he saw this dainty young sprig rise
up in his golden spurs before his eyes. I know how it is! It is
with him as it was with the Lord of Corasse!"

"How was that, Thibault?"

"Why, you must know that Raymond de Corasse had helped himself to
the tithes of a certain Church in Catalonia, whereby the Priest who
claimed them said to him, 'Know that I will send thee a champion
that thou wilt be more afraid of than thou hast hitherto been of
me.' Three months after, each night, in the Castle of Corasse,
began such turmoil as never was known; raps at every door, and
especially that of the Knight--as if all the goblins in fairy-land
had been let loose. The Knight lay silent all one night; but the
next, when the rioting was renewed as loud as ever, he leapt out
of his bed, and bawled out, 'Who is it at this hour thus knocks at
my chamber door?' He was answered, 'It is I.' 'And who sends thee