Yurand had come to the court from Spyhov and given her in marriage to some friend or neighbor. He had told him while in Cracow that Danusia was not fated for him, Zbyshko, and that he could not give her; so, evidently, he had promised her to another; evidently he was bound by an oath, and now he was keeping it. It seemed certain to Zbyshko that he would not see her again as a maiden. Then he called Sanderus and inquired a second time, but he merely made the affair still more doubtful. More than once he recollected the damsel, the daughter of Yurand, and her wedding, and then suddenly he put his finger to his lips, thought a moment, and answered, "It must be that it was not that one." In wine, which was to create clearness in his head, the German did not regain memory, and he kept the young knight continually between hope and mortal fear.
So Zbyshko travelled on in anxiety, suffering, and uncertainty. On the way he had no thought of his own or of Zyh's house, he was thinking only of what it behooved him to do. First of all was the need to go and learn the truth at the Mazovian court; hence he rode on hurriedly, halting only for short night rests at courts, inns, and towns, so as not to wear out his horses. In Lenchytsa he commanded to hang up his board again with the challenge before the gate, understanding in his soul that, whether Danusia remained in a maiden condition or was married, she was always the lady of his heart, and he was obliged to do battle for her. But in Lenchytsa there were not many who knew how to read the challenge; those of the knights to whom clerics skilled in letters explained it, shrugged their shoulders, not knowing foreign customs, and said: "Some fool is travelling; how can any man agree with him, or contradict him, unless he has seen the girl with his own eyes?"
And Zbyshko went on with increasing vexation and increasing haste. Never had he ceased to love his Danusia; when at home and while "advising" almost daily with Yagenka, and looking at her beauty, he had not thought so often of the other, but now she did not leave his eyes, his memory, or his thoughts day or night. In sleep even he saw her before him, blond-haired, with a lute in her hand, with red shoes, and with a garland on her head. She stretched forth her hands to him, but Yurand drew her away. In the morning, when dreams fled, greater longing than ever came straightway in place of them, and never had Zbyshko loved that maiden when in Bogdanets as he loved
