“To the dead man!” exclaimed Erard with affright.  “Grandpapa, see! it is already night.”

“Come, my child,” said Gottfried, “and fear not.  Perhaps he is not yet dead; and if God sends us to his assistance, will you not be happy?”

“But, grandpapa, the wood is so dark, that I don’t see how we shall find our way.”

“Well, Erard, I will wait here.  Run to the house, and return immediately with Ethbert and Matthew.  Tell them that I have sent for them, and let them bring a torch and the long hand-barrow.  Make haste!”

Erard was soon out of sight, and only a short time had elapsed before he returned with the two domestics, who held each a flambeaux and brought the litter.

The child trembled while they descended, over the rocks and through the woods.  It seemed to him that he was about to step in the blood or fall over the body of the dead man.  The flame of the torches, which wavered in the evening breeze, now struck a projection of the rock, which seemed to assume the form of a man, now penetrated behind the trunks of the pines, which appeared like ranks of soldiers.  The imagination of Erard was excited:  he scarcely breathed, and felt his heart sink when Ethbert, who was walking before, exclaimed, “Here he is!  He is dead!”

It was a chevalier and a nobleman; whom Gottfried immediately recognized by the form of his casque and the golden scarf to which was suspended the scabbard of his sword.

The visor of the casque was closed.  Gottfried raised it, and saw the pale and bloody countenance of a man, still young, whose features expressed courage and valor.

He had fallen under his horse, in whose side was found the point of a lance which had killed him; and the whole body of his steed had covered and crushed one of his limbs.  The right hand of the chevalier still grasped the handle of a sword of which the blade was broken.

Gottfried and his servants looked on some moments.  The light of the torches shone on the rich armor of the chevalier and on the gold-embroidered housing of his horse, and it seemed as if its brilliancy must open his closed eyes and re-animate his motionless limbs.

Erard kept close to his grandfather and a little behind him.  He wept gently, but not with fear—­it was with grief and sorrow,—­and he repeated, in a low voice, “They have killed him!  The wicked men!”

“Perhaps he still lives,” said Gottfried, kneeling and placing his ear to the chevalier’s mouth.  “Raise him!  Loose him!” exclaimed he, rising hastily.  “He is not dead!”

“He is not dead! he is not dead!” repeated Erard; and he began with all his little force to push the body of the dead horse, which the three men raised, and from beneath which they at last disengaged the leg of the chevalier.  It was bruised against a stone which had torn the flesh, and the blood was flowing from it copiously.

“Water!” cried Gottfried, unlacing the armor of the chevalier and taking off his casque, which one of the domestics took that he might fill it with water from the foot of the rocks.