"Good!" exclaimed Roland. "This, you see, is one of the effects
of my charming malady. The mere thought of surgical instruments,
a bistoury or a lance, makes me dizzy. Didn't I grow very pale?"

"I did think for an instant you were going to faint."

"What a stunning climax!" exclaimed Roland with a laugh. "Our
adversaries arrive and you are dosing me with smelling salts
like a hysterical woman. Do you know what they, and you, first
of all, would have said? That I was afraid."

Meantime, the three new-comers having approached within earshot,
Sir John was unable to answer Roland. They bowed, and Roland,
with a smile that revealed his beautiful teeth, returned their
greeting. Sir John whispered in his ear:

"You are still a trifle pale. Go on toward the fountain; I will
fetch you when we are ready."

"Ah! that's the idea," said Roland. "I have always wanted to see
that famous fountain of Vaucluse, the Hippocrene of Petrarch.
You know his sonnet?

"'Chiari, fresche e dolci acque
Ove le belle membra
Pose colei, che sola a me perdona.'

This opportunity lost, I may never have another. Where is your
fountain?"