"A pretty lad was this fair-spoken archer of thine!" said the Prince her father to her; "and a pretty kettle of fish hast thou cooked for the fondest of fathers." She retired weeping to her apartment.

Never before had that young heart felt so wretched.
That morning, at nine o'clock, as they were going to breakfast, the Rowski's trumpets sounded.

Clad in complete armor, and mounted on his enormous piebald charger, he came out of his pavilion, and rode slowly up and down in front of the castle.

He was ready there to meet a champion.
Three times each day did the odious trumpet sound the same notes of defiance.

Thrice daily did the steel-clad Rowski come forth challenging the combat.