'Oh, Messire Gilles!' she cried. 'If you only knew how comical you look!'
'Comical, Madame?' retorted Gilles with a growl. 'So would you look comical if you were suddenly confronted with so wild a proposition!'
'Wild, Messire?' riposted the Queen. ''Tis the Flemish lords who would be wild if my inventive brain had not conceived the proposition.'
'But, Madame——' protested Gilles feebly.
'But, Messire,' retorted the Queen, mimicking the unfortunate man. 'Tell me,' she added more soberly, 'have you or have you not impersonated Monsieur before now?'
'Well!' murmured Gilles, 'I confess that I...'
'There was the affair with Monsieur de Ravache, for instance,' she continued firmly. 'The sword-thrust which that invincible duellist received in a certain affair of honour last June was openly attributed to Monsieur; but those who were in the know have averred that it was Messire Gilles de Crohin, and not the Duc d'Anjou, who fought Monsieur de Ravache that night.'
Gilles shrugged his shoulders and Marguerite went on glibly:
'And in the fracas in a low booth outside Arras, when an irate father and three bellicose brothers vowed vengeance against the princely lover of an over-trusting wench, was it indeed Monsieur Duc d'Anjou who, beneath a mask and cloak, kept half a dozen sturdy swordsmen at bay for close on half an hour? Or was it not rather Messire Gilles de Crohin who fought single-handed thus valiantly, even while Monsieur, disguised and furtive, found safety in flight?'
'Your Majesty, I protest,' broke in Gilles firmly, 'that rumour is nearly always a lying jade——'