“Did I not very particularly ask you whether there were any vermin in it?”
“You did, sire.”
“And you answered me?”
“That there were not, sire.”
“And yet ere I have been here an hour I find Englishmen crawling about within it. Where are we to be free from this pestilent race? Can a Frenchman upon French land not sit down in a French auberge without having his ears pained by the clack of their hideous talk? Send them packing, inn-keeper, or it may be the worse for them and for you.”
“I will, sire, I will!” cried the frightened host, and bustled from the room, while the soft, soothing voice of the woman was heard remonstrating with her furious companion.
“Indeed, gentlemen, you had best go,” said mine host. “It is but six miles to Villefranche, where there are very good quarters at the sign of the 'Lion Rouge.'”
“Nay,” answered Sir Nigel, “I cannot go until I have seen more of this person, for he appears to be a man from whom much is to be hoped. What is his name and title?”
“It is not for my lips to name it unless by his desire. But I beg and pray you, gentlemen, that you will go from my house, for I know not what may come of it if his rage should gain the mastery of him.”
“By Saint Paul!” lisped Sir Nigel, “this is certainly a man whom it is worth journeying far to know. Go tell him that a humble knight of England would make his further honorable acquaintance, not from any presumption, pride, or ill-will, but for the advancement of chivalry and the glory of our ladies. Give him greeting from Sir Nigel Loring, and say that the glove which I bear in my cap belongs to the most peerless and lovely of her sex, whom I am now ready to uphold against any lady whose claim he might be desirous of advancing.”