Chapter 23

CHAPTER XXIII.
HUON OF BORDEAUX, CONTINUED. HUON had seen many beauties at his mother's court, but his heart had
never been touched with love. Honor had been his mistress, and in
pursuit of that he had never found time to give a thought to softer
cares. Strange that a heart so insensible should first be touched by
something so unsubstantial as a dream; but so it was.
The day after the adventure with his uncle, night overtook the
travellers as they passed through a forest. A grotto offered them
shelter from the night dews. The magic cup supplied their evening
meal; for such was its virtue that it afforded not only wine, but more
solid fare when desired. Fatigue soon threw them into profound repose.
Lulled by the murmur of the foliage, and breathing the fragrance of
the flowers, Huon dreamed that a lady more beautiful than he had
ever before seen hung over him, and imprinted a kiss upon his lips. As
he stretched out his arms to embrace her, a sudden gust of wind
swept her away.
Huon awoke in an agony of regret. A few moments sufficed to afford
some consolation in showing him that what had passed was but a
dream; but his perplexity and sadness could not escape the notice of
Sherasmin. Huon hesitated not to inform his faithful follower of the
reason of his pensiveness; and got nothing in return but his rallyings
for allowing himself to be disturbed by such a cause. He recommended a
draught from the fairy goblet, and Huon tried it with good effect.
At early dawn they resumed their way. They travelled till high noon,
but said little to one another. Huon was musing on his dream, and
Sherasmin's thoughts flew back to his early days on the banks of the
flowery Garonne.
On a sudden they were startled by the cry of distress, and,
turning an angle of the wood, came where a knight hard pressed was
fighting with a furious lion. The knight's horse lay dead, and it
seemed as if another moment would end the combat, for terror and
fatigue had quite disabled the knight for further resistance. He fell,
and the lion's paw was raised over him, when a blow from Huon's
sword turned the monster's rage upon a new enemy. His roar shook the
forest, and he crouched in act to spring, when, with the rapidity of
lightning, Huon plunged his sword into his side. He rolled over on the
plain in the agonies of death.
They raised the knight from the ground, and Sherasmin hastened to
offer him a draught from the fairy cup. The wine sparkled to the brim,
and the warrior put forth his lips to quaff it, but it shrunk away,
and did not even wet his lips. He dashed the goblet angrily on the
ground, with an exclamation of resentment. This incident did not
tend to make either party more acceptable to the other; and what
followed was