Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, “Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife⁠—Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the captive!” She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, “He is down!⁠—he is down!”

“Who is down?” cried Ivanhoe; “for our dear Lady’s sake, tell me which has fallen?”

“The Black Knight,” answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness⁠—“But no⁠—but no!⁠—the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed!⁠—he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men’s strength in his single arm⁠—His sword is broken⁠—he snatches an axe from a yeoman⁠—he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow⁠—The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman⁠—he falls⁠—he falls!”

“Front-de-Boeuf?” exclaimed Ivanhoe.