bearing had not proclaimed his right to the deference with which he was received.  As he dismounted from his horse, he threw off the large mantle, not unlike the military cloaks of our days, and discovered the knightly armour, which showed to peculiar advantage his powerful limbs.  A straight black tunic without sleeves descended to his knees.  It was fastened by a silver girdle, from which depended on one side a strong sword, and on the other a dagger, the richly wrought handle of which seemed to declare it of Turkish make.  His arms and hands were covered with a steel tissue, sitting close and so flexible that it yielded lightly to every motion.  The squire who followed him was old, and a certain familiarity was mingled with the respect of his manner, and seemed to declare that he had been long accustomed to his master.  In truth he had served the father of our knight, and the latter had grown up beneath his attendance, which had not unfrequently become his protection.  His armour, far from adorning his person, scarcely left a human figure visible beneath its heavy plates of iron, fastened by nails whose monstrous heads seemed cast in the same mould with those which strengthened the heavy oak doors of the palace.  His helmet seemed the section of a water-pipe of cast iron.  Visor it had none; but in its place was a plate or bar of iron descending from the forehead to the chin, almost touching the nose and mouth, and he had a group of arms suspended from his saddle.  It was Sir Guy de Dampierre and his squire.

The seneschal conducted them with much ceremony to the knight’s apartments in the castle, where a small table placed by the side of an enormous log-fire in the middle of the room, and plentifully furnished with cold salted and dried meats, together with the thin wines of France, and the more potent juice of the German grape, soon made him forget the cold and thirst he had endured in the forest.  The beer he quaffed with peculiar pleasure, as it invitingly foamed in a silver tankard, which had been thickly embossed by the abbot of Wansfort, and presented by him to the Emperor Baldwin previous to his embarkation for the Holy Land.

Having praised the flavour of the beer and helped himself to some slices from a well cured wild boar’s head, he said to the chamberlain, “And Baldwin of Avesnes is not yet arrived, you say?”

“No, Count,” replied the chamberlain; “we expected he would be with you.”

“Why, my road lay through Namur, and he comes directly from Bruges.  I marvel therefore he be not arrived—­and I have news for him,” said the knight.

    [The next page includes a passing notice of the introduction of
    chimneys into England, referable, though not without dispute, to
    this date:—­]

The warder’s horn was again heard; and after due time the person in question made his appearance.  He looked harassed and fatigued, and gladly took the seat Count Guy pointed to, close by his own, and having stirred the logs which burned lazily in the huge hearth, he observed, “Methinks the wood emits this sulphureous vapour more strongly than ever.  I marvel, Guy, that you have not repaid the compliment of the English king’s invitation to your weavers, by bringing over workmen to build you some of those long narrow passages which, beginning just over the fire, project from the top of the house to carry off the smoke.”