'No, by the Lord!' exclaimed Gilles with a loud laugh. Then he caught her look: it was not one of surprise, rather of amusement not unmixed with quaint, roguish mischief. He could not interpret that look rightly, and began to stammer, worse confused than before.
'Madame—I—that is——'
'You are no judge of your master's looks, shall we say?' she retorted with an enigmatic little smile. 'But you must remember that, though I found Monseigneur of noble bearing, I have no notion how he looks, for I have never seen him without a mask—that is——'
This time Gilles was quite sure that she was doing her best to suppress a laugh.
'Do you think,' she said, 'that you could persuade His Magnificence to pay his respects to me unmasked?'
'Monseigneur will, I feel sure,' he rejoined stiffly, 'be honoured by the command, but——'
'But what, Messire?'
'He is strangely ill-favoured, Madame.'
'Oh! a woman is the best judge of that. Some of the ugliest men have proved most attractive.'
'But—but Monseigneur is scarred—badly scarred. He——'