“I cry you mercy, Dame,” said Perrote, meekly. “Did you ever this before?”
“I mind not well, Dame.”
“Well, of a surety! Call you this guarding a prisoner? Mind you not that which happed at Tickhill, when she ’scaped forth by aid of that knight—his name I forget—and had nigh reached the border of the liberties ere it was discovered? Is this your allegiance and duty? Dame, I bid you good morrow.”
“Better late than never, Avena,” said the Countess, a little satirically. “Thou fond thing, there, lie over twenty years betwixt yon night at Tickhill and this morrow. And if the night were back, where is the knight? Nay, Avena Foljambe, I have nought to escape for, now.”
“Dame, I must needs say you be rare unbuxom and unthankful.”
“Ay, so said the fox to the stork, when he ’plained to be served with thin broth.”
“Pray you, look but around. You be lodged fit for any queen, be she the greatest in Christendom; you need but speak a wish, and you shall have it fulfilled—”
“Namely, thou shalt not put me off with red silk to my broidery when I would have blue.”
“You eat of the best, and lie of the softest, and speak with whom you would—”
“Hold there!” The fire had come back to the sunken eyes. “I would speak with some that come never anigh me, mine own children, that have cast me off, or be kept away from me; they never so much as ask the old mother how she doth. And I slaved and wrought and risked my life for them, times out of mind! And here you keep me, shut up in four walls,—never a change from year end to year end; never a voice to say ‘Mother!’ or ‘I love thee;’ never a hope to look forward to till death take me! No going forth of my cage; even the very air of heaven has to come in to me. And I may choose, may I, whether my bed shall be hung with green or blue? I may speak my pleasure if I would have to my four-hours macaroons or gingerbread? and be duly thankful that this liberty and these delicates are granted me! Avena Foljambe, all your folly lieth not in your legs.”