The four pages were one day wandering in the outskirts of the
forest, clothed in light hunting dresses--tunics, confined by broad
belts and edged with fur; while leggings protected the feet and
ankles from thorns. They each had hunting spears and bows, which
were borne by young thralls, with sheaves of arrows strung to their
backs, while they held dogs by leashes of leather.

He who bore the air of the leader of the party was tall and dark,
of slender build, but with all those characteristics which denoted
the conquering race; the fearless eye, the haughty air of those
born to command. A second, our readers would have recognised as a
typical English boy; his nut-brown hair and blue eyes contrasted
strongly with the features of his companions, so marked then were
those differences which have long since vanished--vanished, or at
least have become so shared amongst the English people, that none
can say which is of Anglo-Saxon, which of Norman blood, by the cast
of the face.

And this English lad, whose dress in no wise distinguished him from
his companions, was evidently ill at ease amongst them; from time
to time he reddened as Etienne, Pierre, or Louis called the unhappy
thralls "English swine," "young porkers," or the like, and bestowed
upon them far more kicks than coins.

"You forget, Etienne, that I am English."

"Nay, my brother Wilfred, thou wilt not allow me to do that, but of
course in thy case 'noblesse oblige.'"