three dogs, who sat around him, and howled
most mournfully, as if they knew they had lost their best friend.

The men carried the great boar into the castle of Lens, and threw it
down upon the kitchen hearth. A wonderful beast he was: his sharp,
curved tusks stuck out full a foot from his mouth. The serving-men and
the squires crowded around to see the huge animal; then, as the news
was told through the castle, many fair ladies and knights, and the
priests from the chapel, came in to view the sight. Old Duke Fromont
heard the uproar, and came in slippers and gown to ask what it all
meant.

"Whence came this boar, this ivory horn, this sword?" he inquired.
"This horn never belonged to a mere huntsman. It looks like the
wondrous horn that King Charles the Hammer had in the days of my
father. There is but one knight now living that can blow it; and he is
far away in Gascony. Tell me where you got these things."

Then the forester told him all that had happened in the wood, coloring
the story, of course, so as to excuse himself from wrong-doing.

"And left ye the slain man in the wood?" asked the old duke. "A more
shameful sin I have never known than to leave him there for the wolves
to eat. Go ye back at once, and fetch him hither. To-night he shall
be watched in the chapel, and to-morrow he shall be buried with all due
honor. Men should have pity of one another."

The body of the noble Duke Bego was brought, and laid upon a table in
the great hall. His dogs were still with him, howling pitifully, and
licking his face. Knights and noblemen came in to see him.

"A gentle man this was," said they; "for even his dogs loved him."

"Shame on the rascals who slew him!" said others. "No freeman would
have touched so noble a knight."

Old Duke Fromont came in. He started back at sight of him who lay
there lifeless. Well he knew Duke Bego, by a scar that he himself had
given him at the battle of St. Quentin ten years before. He fell
fainting into the arms of his knights. Then afterward he upbraided his
men for their dastardly deed, and bewailed their wicked folly.

"This is no poaching huntsman whom you have slain," said he, "but a
most worthy knight,--the kindest, the best taught, that ever wore
spurs. And ye have dragged me this day into such a war that I shall
not be out of it so long as I live. I shall see my lands overrun and
wasted, my great castles thrown down and destroyed, and my people
distres