Very wonderful was all this to Gaston and Raymond, but not quite so bewildering as it would have been a month ago.  They had been about the Court some little time now, and were growing used to the fine dresses, the English ways of speech, and the manners and customs which had perplexed them not a little at first.  They were greatly entertained by watching the shifting throng of courtiers, and their one glimpse at the royal countenance of the King had been fraught with keen pleasure and satisfaction; but so far as they knew it, they had not yet seen the Prince of Wales, and they had not caught sight either of their cousins Oliver or Bernard, though they had found John sitting in the embrasure of a window in the corridor, watching the scene with the same interest which they felt in it themselves.

When they saw him they joined him, and asked the names of some of the gay personages flitting about.  John good-naturedly amused them with a number of anecdotes of the Court; and as the three were thus chatting together, they were suddenly joined by another group of three, who advanced along the corridor talking in low tones but with eager excitement.

“Here comes the Prince,” said John, rising to his feet, and the twin brothers turned eagerly round.

They knew in an instant which of the three was the Prince, for his companions were John’s two brothers, Oliver and Bernard.  Young Edward was at that time not quite fourteen, but so strong, so upright, so well grown, and of such a kingly presence, that it was hard to believe he had scarcely left his childhood behind.  His tunic was of cloth of gold, with the royal arms embroidered upon it.  He wore a golden collar round his neck, and his golden girdle held a dagger with a richly-jewelled hilt.  A short velvet mantle lined with ermine hung over his shoulder, and was fastened by a clasp richly chased and set with rubies.  His face was flushed as if with some great purpose, and his eyes shone brightly with excitement.

“It shall never be true —­ I will not believe it!” he was saying, in urgent accents.  “Let chivalry once die out, and so goes England’s glory.  May I die ere I live to see that day!  Better a thousand times death in some glorious warfare, in some knightly deed of daring, than to drag out a life of ease and sloth with the dying records of the glorious past alone to cheer and sustain one.  Good John, thou art a man of letters —­ thou canst read the signs of the times —­ prithee tell me that there be no truth in this dark whisper.  Sure the days of chivalry are not half lived through yet!”

“Nor will be so long as you are spared to England, gentle Prince,” answered John, with his slight peculiar smile.  “You and your royal Sire together will keep alive the old chivalry at which was dealt so sore a blow in your grandsire’s days.  A reign like that of weakness and folly and treachery leaves its mark behind; but England’s chivalry has lived through it —­”