No little consternation was spread through the garrison at the news:  for everybody knew the Rowski to be one of the most intrepid and powerful soldiers in all Germany,—­one of the most skilful generals.  Generous to extravagance to his own followers, he was ruthless to the enemy:  a hundred stories were told of the dreadful barbarities exercised by him in several towns and castles which he had captured and sacked.  And poor Helen had the pain of thinking, that in consequence of her refusal she was dooming all the men, women, and children of the principality to indiscriminate and horrible slaughter.

The dreadful surmises regarding a war received in a few days dreadful confirmation.  It was noon, and the worthy Prince of Cleves was taking his dinner (though the honest warrior had had little appetite for that meal for some time past), when trumpets were heard at the gate; and presently the herald of the Rowski of Donnerblitz, clad in a tabard on which the arms of the Count were blazoned, entered the dining-hall.  A page bore a steel gauntlet on a cushion; Bleu Sanglier had his hat on his head.  The Prince of Cleves put on his own, as the herald came up to the chair of state where the sovereign sat.

“Silence for Bleu Sanglier,” cried the Prince, gravely.  “Say your say, Sir Herald.”

“In the name of the high and mighty Rowski, Prince of Donnerblitz, Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein, Count of Krotenwald, Schnauzestadt, and Galgenhugel, Hereditary Grand Corkscrew of the Holy Roman Empire—­to you, Adolf the Twenty-third, Prince of Cleves, I, Bleu Sanglier, bring war and defiance.  Alone, and lance to lance, or twenty to twenty in field or in fort, on plain or on mountain, the noble Rowski defies you.  Here, or wherever he shall meet you, he proclaims war to the death between you and him.  In token whereof, here is his glove.”  And taking the steel glove from the page, Bleu Boar flung it clanging on the marble floor.

The Princess Helen turned deadly pale:  but the Prince, with a good assurance, flung down his own glove, calling upon some one to raise the Rowski’s; which Otto accordingly took up and presented to him, on his knee.

“Boteler, fill my goblet,” said the Prince to that functionary, who, clothed in tight black hose, with a white kerchief, and a napkin on his dexter arm, stood obsequiously by his master’s chair.  The goblet was filled with Malvoisie:  it held about three quarts; a precious golden hanap carved by the cunning artificer, Benvenuto the Florentine.

“Drink, Bleu Sanglier,” said the Prince, “and put the goblet in thy bosom.  Wear this chain, furthermore, for my sake.”  And so saying, Prince Adolf flung a precious chain of emeralds round the herald’s neck.  “An invitation to battle was ever a welcome call to Adolf of Cleves.”  So saying, and bidding his people take good care of Bleu Sanglier’s retinue, the Prince left the hall with his daughter.  All were marvelling at his dignity, courage, and generosity.