Clerivault, with his mouth forming an answer, stared as if petrified. He had never yet seen such fire in this discreet dove’s eyes, and it opened his own.
‘In law, hearsay is no evidence,’ he began, muttering; but the dove stooped upon him with flaming vision:—
‘Do you dare to question my word?’
Clerivault started back.
‘Cry you mercy, Sir! Not for the wide world. I but spoke by instinct the fashion of the trade. Well, I see that blood will out. I must mind for the future my p’s and q’s.’
The boy was still incensed. There was, in truth, a little devil of pride in him, not often to be provoked, but, when it flared, significant of a thing or two. It was a lesson to Clerivault, in whose manner thenceforth some little show of patronage was exchanged for a greater deference.
‘It was the Lord of Leicester, I say,’ said Brion.
‘It was the Lord of Leicester, since you declare it,’ answered the other, with a downcast look.
‘Why do you not answer my question, then?’
‘What question, please your grace? My memory is consumed in this fire.’