Gerard went hastily to the inn to relieve Denys of the anxiety so long and mysterious an absence must have caused him. He found him seated at his ease, playing dice with two young ladies whose manners were unreserved, and complexion high.
Gerard was hurt. “N'oubliez point la Jeanneton!” said he, colouring up.
“What of her?” said Denys, gaily rattling the dice.
“She said, 'Le peu que sont les femmes.'”
“Oh, did she? And what say you to that, mesdemoiselles?”
“We say that none run women down, but such as are too old, or too ill-favoured, or too witless to please them.”
“Witless, quotha? Wise men have not folly enough to please them, nor madness enough to desire to please them,” said Gerard loftily; “but 'tis to my comrade I speak, not to you, you brazen toads, that make so free with a man at first sight.”
“Preach away, comrade. Fling a byword or two at our heads. Know, girls, that he is a very Solomon for bywords. Methinks he was brought up by hand on 'em.”
“Be thy friendship a byword!” retorted Gerard. “The friendship that melts to nought at sight of a farthingale.”
“Malheureux!” cried Denys, “I speak but pellets, and thou answerest daggers.”