Edward, and to turn with greater ease to converse with John, who,
less lofty in character than his brother, better suited his nature.

There, too, Eustace beheld the stalwart form and rugged features of
Sir John Chandos; the slender figure and dark sparkling southern
face of the Captal de Buch; the rough joyous boon-companion visage
of Sir Hugh Calverly, the free-booting warrior; the youthful form
of the young step-son of the Prince, Lord Thomas Holland; the rude
features of the Breton Knight, Sir Oliver de Clisson, soon to be
the bitterest foe of the standard beneath which he was now fighting.
Many were there whose renown had charmed the ears of the young Squire
of Lynwood Keep, and he looked on the scene with the eagerness with
which he would have watched some favourite romance suddenly done
into life and action.

"Eustace! What, Eustace, in a trance?" said d'Aubricour. "Waken,
and carry this trencher of beef to your brother. Best that you
should do it," he added in a low voice, taking up a flask of wine,
"and save our comrade from at once making himself a laughing-stock."

The discontented glance with which Leonard's eyes followed his
fellow Squires, did not pass unobserved by a person with whom
d'Aubricour had exchanged a few words, a squarely-made, dark-
visaged man, with a thick black beard, and a huge scar which had
obliterated one eye; his equipment was that of a Squire, but
instead of, like others of the same degree, attending on the
guests at the upper table, he sat carelessly sideways on the
bench, with one elbow on the board.

"You gaze after that trencher as if you wished your turn was come,"