"You, Mar, you. You are my staunch supporter, perhaps?"
"Your horse-boy, an you ask it, Sire!"
He pressed his lips to the king's hand, great, helpless tears dripping down upon it.
"If I ever desert you, I am a dog, Sire! But the fighting is not all done. I will capture you a flag yet."
"Perhaps. I much fear me there's life in Mayenne still."
M. Étienne, not venturing to rise, yet lifted beseeching eyes to the king's.
"What! you want to get away from me, ventre-saint-gris!"
My lord, who wanted precisely that, had no choice but to protest that nothing was farther from his thoughts.
"Stuff!" the king exclaimed. "You're in a sweat to be gone, you unmannerly churl! You, a raw, untried boy, are invited to dine with the king, and your one itch is to escape the tedium!"
"Sire—"