not the girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been
unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man, rolled
on the ground under a cloud of dust.

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was to
the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and, stung with madness,
both at his disgrace and at the acclamations with which it was
hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and waved it in
defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited Knight sprung from
his steed, and also unsheathed his sword. The marshals of the
field, however, spurred their horses between them, and reminded
them, that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present
occasion, permit this species of encounter.

"We shall meet again, I trust," said the Templar, casting a
resentful glance at his antagonist; "and where there are none to
separate us."

"If we do not," said the Disinherited Knight, "the fault shall
not be mine. On foot or horseback, with spear, with axe, or with
sword, I am alike ready to encounter thee."

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but the
marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, compelled them to
separate. The Disinherited Knight returned to his first station,
and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained for the rest of
the day in an agony of despair.

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for a bowl
of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of his helmet,