But, as it rushed, it met Roland with his knee on the ground, the knife in his hand.

A moment later a tangled, formless group, man and boar, boar and man, was rolling on the ground.
Then a third shot rang out, followed by a laugh from Roland.
"Ah! my lord," cried the young man, "you've wasted powder and shot.
Can't you see that I have ripped him up?
Only get his body off of me.
The beast weighs at least four hundred pounds, and he is smothering me." But before Sir John could stoop, Roland, with a vigorous push of the shoulder, rolled the animal's body aside, and rose to his feet covered with blood, but without a single scratch.

Little Edouard, either from lack of time or from native courage, had not recoiled an inch.

True, he was completely protected by his brother's body, which was between him and the boar.

Sir John had sprung aside to take the animal in the flank.
He watched Roland, as he emerged from this second duel, with the same amazement that he had experienced after the first.
The dogs--those that were left, some twenty in all--had followed the boar, and were now leaping upon his body in the vain effort to tear the bristles, which were almost as impenetrable as iron.
"You will see," said Roland, wiping the blood from his face and hands with a fine cambric handkerchief, "how they will eat him, and your knife too, my lord." "True," said Sir John; "where is the knife ?" "In its sheath," replied Roland.
"Ah!" exclaimed the boy, "only the handle shows." He sprang toward the animal and pulled out the poniard, which, as he said, was buried up to the hilt.