“Truckle? to whom?”
“To me, for one; to one, whom you affronted for a base-born girl like yourself; but whose patronage you claim all the same.”
Gerard rose, and put his hand to his heart. “These are biting words, signora. Have I really deserved them?”
“Oh, what are words to an adventurer like you? cold steel is all you fear?”
“I am no swashbuckler, yet I have met steel with steel and methinks I had rather face your kinsmen's swords than your cruel tongue, lady. Why do you use me so?”
“Gerar-do, for no good reason, but because I am wayward, and shrewish, and curst, and because everybody admires me but you.”
“I admire you too, Signora. Your friends may flatter you more; but believe me they have not the eye to see half your charms. Their babble yesterday showed me that. None admire you more truly, or wish you better, than the poor artist, who might not be your lover, but hoped to be your friend; but no, I see that may not be between one so high as you, and one so low as I.”
“Ay! but it shall, Gerardo,” said the princess eagerly. “I will not be so curst. Tell me now where abides thy Margaret; and I will give thee a present for her; and on that you and I will be friends.”
“She is a daughter of a physician called Peter, and they bide at Sevenbergen; ah me, shall I e'er see it again?”
“'Tis well. Now go.” And she dismissed him somewhat abruptly.