THE sun had risen, and gilded with his early beams the lofty towers of the Castle of Senerace. Never had the spring lavished its treasures with a hand more prodigal of splendour and magnificence than on this beautiful May-morning which now dawned. The sky might have been compared by the poet, without exaggeration, to a sea of azure; no cloud disturbed its pure expanse. Only a few vapours, of exquisite transparency, were seen at the extremity of the horizon, serving to subdue the somewhat rude outlines of the more distant mountains, which they softly veiled. Nature, on a fine day in spring, puts on her

holyday attire, and even her wildest scenes assume an air of gaiety, and play the coquette; and thus, although the plain of Senerace presents no remarkable features to the lovers of the picturesque, its beauty was admirable on that day when seen from the castle towers, which crown the summit of a hill, rising in solitary prominence from the middle of the plain. By degrees the landscape became more animated. Knights were seen hastening from all parts to share in the tournament, and the inhabitants of the neighbouring districts flocked to behold the scene as peaceable spectators. An extensive circle had been marked out as the theatre of combat, and in a short time it was surrounded by groups of curious beholders, who discussed the prowess of the various champions, their respective chances of success, and dwelt, above all, on the prize reserved for the happy conqueror. The castle gates then opened, and poured forth in successive ranks the various noble guests who had arrived on the preceding evening to take part in the fray. The count de Rodez himself was present, and an elevated seat had been prepared for him near the throne of the Queen of Beauty, who was no other than the youthful and enchanting Isabelle de Creyssels. On her appearance a low murmur of applause was heard among the assembly. In the flower of youth and beauty, her deep blue eyes beamed with a softness inexpressible, while her long black tresses contrasted to advantage with the exquisite purity of her complexion, and features unequalled for regularity and elegance. Blushingly she cast a timid glance at the knights by whom she was surrounded, but saw not him of whom her eyes were in quest. The best nobility of the land were there, and among them Amaury, count de Senerace, who, as seneschal

of the province, occupied the functions of marshal of the

tournament.

The baron de San Venza now entered the lists, and coursed his prancing steed twice round the arena. His powerful and muscular figure was but seen to more advantage beneath his armour, and his horse bent beneath the weight of such a colossus, clad in mail of steel. He caused announcement to be made by a herald, that he was ready to meet any one in single combat, either on foot or in full tilt, with the lance, the sword, or the dagger. Four knights then advanced, and dared him to the combat. The first two were easily defeated, opposing but little resistance to the vigorous arm of the baron; the third was Raimond Jordan, viscount de Saint Antonin. The combat was long and doubtful. Twice they met each other in full career, without either having the decided advantage. At the encounter their lances were shivered, so violent was the shock. The steed of the viscount was thrown on his hind legs, and rolled in the dust with his rider. The baron was shaken for a moment on his courser, but speedily regained his equilibrium, like a heavy mass which receives but a slight impression, and is not easily moved from its centre of gravity. His adversary was speedily on his feet, and advanced, sword in hand. The baron alighted from his steed also, and then commenced a new species of combat. The viscount, stunned by a violent blow, fell motionless to the earth, and the marshals approaching, declared the combat between the two knights to be decided. The baron de Castelpus next entered the lists; but although he displayed great valour, it was of no avail against the prodigious strength of San Venza. No other knight came forward, and the people, who detested the

baron, murmured loudly when they saw him master of the field. Uneasy, and agitated by conflicting feelings, the Queen of Beauty directed her looks towards the extremity of the arena. All on a sudden the crowded ranks of the people opened, and made way for a knight galloping at full speed. Prolonged applause greeted him on his arrival. His armour was quite black, without any distinctive mark. He rode slowly round the field, saluting the Queen of Beauty as he passed, and placed himself opposite to the baron de San Venza, at the other extremity of the scene of combat. The eyes of Isabelle sparkled with delight: she had recognised the new champion to be her Henry.

A herald now announced that the very high and very powerful lord, Henry, count de Fayet, marquis of Brusque and Camares, bade defiance to the baron de San Venza, and dared him to mortal combat, on foot or horseback, with lance, sword, dagger, or any other arms he might choose to select.

"You are nothing but a vile impostor!" cried the baron, in a voice of thunder. "None of the titles now enumerated belong to you, but to me; and it is beneath my dignity to accept the defiance of a man who does not possess a foot of ground."

Count de Fayet was about to reply, when the Commander de Saint Felix, advancing to the middle of the field, spoke as follows:-" Baron de San Venza, it is useless to add insult to the other outrages of which you have been guilty against the count de Fayet. He is of noble birth as well as yourself, and you cannot refuse his challenge."- "And if you do not immediately assume the defensive," added De Fayet, " I will proclaim you to be a coward and a felon.”

The air rang with applause at this speech; and San Venza, inflamed with rage, advanced to meet his adversary.

Both, with lance in rest, rushed towards each other, but, just when on the point of collision, they passed without coming in contact, as if both disdained any attack but such as might prove decisive. A second encounter had the same result as the first; but at the third the baron's lance was shivered on the count's shield, and the baron himself, by a thrust in the breast from his adversary's lance, was thrown with his horse to the ground. In a moment Henry was on his feet, and before the baron could recover himself, he felt his opponent's sword at his throat, and was compelled to own himself vanquished.

Loud applause resounded from all parts; the humiliation of the baron was a source of public rejoicing. But what was most flattering of all to the pride of the conqueror, and dearest by far to his heart, was the delight expressed by his fair betrothed, the Queen of Beauty-a delight which beamed from her whole countenance,--who rewarded him with a smile, which, to the lover, is the sweetest recompence.

This brilliant feat terminated the first day of the tournament, and the spectators withdrew, discoursing by the way of the unexpected conclusion of the combat. One remarked

that he saw a tuft of fire on the victor's helmet when he rushed to the encounter. Another saw sparks of fire proceed from his armour. A third was certain that the lance of the baron de San Venza was broken in the air before it touched the armour of the count de Fayet. A fourth affirmed that when the count drew his sword to put it to the baron's throat it seemed on fire. Old Marcel, who took part in this