“Saving my poor honesty,” said I, “maybe I am. But that I keep faith with men, and honour with women, maybe I am, my lord.”
He darted a glance at me—a glance of anger.
“Is your mother dead?” said I.
“Ay, she’s dead.”
“She may thank God,” said I, and I heard him curse me softly. “Well, what’s the message?” I continued.
I had touched him on the raw, for all the world knew he had broken his mother’s heart and flaunted his mistresses in her house; and his airy manner was gone for the moment.
“The duke offers you more than I would,” he growled. “A halter for you, sire, was my suggestion. But he offers you safe-conduct across the frontier and a million crowns.”
“I prefer your offer, my lord, if I am bound to one.”
“You refuse?”
“Of course.”