"If I had my own, sir," answered the Englishman, "but I have not. My name is Gilbert Warde."
"Sir Gilbert—" began the Gascon, bowing again and waving the hand that held his cap in a tremendous gesture, which ended on his heart as if to express thanks for the information.
"No, sir," interrupted the other. "Of those who would have given me knighthood I would not have it, and they of whom I would take it have not offered it."
"Sir," answered the knight, courteously, "those of whom you speak cannot have known you. I come from her Grace the Duchess of Gascony."
"The Duchess of, Gascony?" asked Gilbert, unaccustomed to the title.
The knight drew himself up till he seemed to be standing on his toes, and his hand left his sword-hilt to give his mustache a fierce upward twist.
"The Duchess of Gascony, sir," he repeated. "There are a few persons who call her Highness the Queen of France, doubtless without meaning to give offence."
Gilbert smiled in spite of himself, but the knight's eyes took fire instantly.
"Do you laugh at me, sir?" he asked, his hand going back to his sword, and his right foot advancing a little as if he meant to draw.
"No, sir. I crave your pardon if I smiled, admiring your Gascon loyalty."