“And yet, monsieur, is it the whole?”
“What more, Madonna?”
“Why, this paragon of a prince should surely need no panegyrist so to recommend him, unless, indeed, there were a conscious flaw somewhere in his perfection.”
He looked down in his turn; then suddenly up again, and boldly.
“If high-born ladies,” he said, “will masquerade as rustic wenches, wading for lilies, it is no sin to accept them as they appear.”
She drew back quickly.
“I think you may go, monsieur,” she said.
He bowed, and was leaving, when she stopped him.
“One moment. That sword of yours—so dedicated—a fine comment on your yesterday’s sentiment! A woman is a woman, is she not, and therefore to be saved insult?”
The chevalier’s handsome pale face seemed to go a thought whiter.