"Aye, you would have been the victor had it not been for Pontou. You shall do what you like with your boy. I promise you that."
"Now that is well said, Gervais," returned Yeux-gris, rising, and picking up his sword, which he sheathed. "That is very well said. For if you did not feel like promising it, why, I should have to begin over again with my left hand."
"Oh, I give you the boy," Gervais repeated rather sullenly, turning away to pour himself some wine.
I could not but wonder at Yeux-gris, at his gaiety and his steadfastness. He had hardly looked grave through the whole affair; he had fought with a smile on his lips and had taken a cruel wound with a laugh. Withal, he had been the constant champion of my innocence, even to drawing his sword on his cousin for me. Now, with his bloody arm in its sling, he was as debonair and careless as ever. I had been stupid enough to imagine the big Gervais the leader of the two, and I found myself mistaken. I dropped on my knee and kissed my saviour's hand in all gratitude.
"Aha," said Yeux-gris, "what think you now of being my valet?"
Verily, I was hard pushed.
"Monsieur," I said, "I owe you much more than I can ever pay. If you were any man's enemy but my duke's, I would serve you on my knees. But I was born on the duke's land and I cannot be disloyal. You may kill me yourself, if you like."
"No," he answered gravely, "that is not my métier."
Gervais laughed.
"Make me that offer, and I accept."