At this critical moment, Quentin Durward, who had been thrown out in the chase by the slowness of his horse, but who, nevertheless, had luckily distinguished and followed the blast of the King's horn, rode up, and transfixed the animal with his spear.
The King, who had by this time recovered his feet, came in turn to Durward's assistance, and cut the animal's throat with his sword.

Before speaking a word to Quentin, he measured the huge creature not only by paces, but even by feet--then wiped the sweat from his brow, and the blood from his hands--then took off his hunting cap, hung it on a bush, and devoutly made his orisons to the little leaden images which it contained--and at length, looking upon Durward, said to him, "Is it thou, my young Scot ?--Thou hast begun thy woodcraft well, and Maitre Pierre owes thee as good entertainment as he gave thee at the Fleur de Lys yonder .-- Why dost thou not speak?
Thou hast lost thy forwardness and fire, methinks, at the Court, where others find both." Quentin, as shrewd a youth as ever Scottish breeze breathed caution into, had imbibed more awe than confidence towards his dangerous master, and was far too wise to embrace the perilous permission of familiarity which he seemed thus invited to use.

He answered in very few and well chosen words, that if he ventured to address his Majesty at all, it could be but to crave pardon for the rustic boldness with which he had conducted himself when ignorant of his high rank.
"Tush! man," said the King; "I forgive thy sauciness for thy spirit and shrewdness.

I admired how near thou didst hit upon my gossip Tristan's occupation.

You have nearly tasted of his handiwork since, as I am given to understand.