The girl laughed. "What a funny boy!"
His cheek flushed; from beneath the matted hair, the disconcerted black eyes met the mocking brown ones.
"Of course I can't take it for nothing," she explained, "and it is very absurd of you to expect it."
"Then," with sudden stubbornness, "I will keep it!"
Her glance grew more severe. "Most people speak to me as 'my Lady.' You seem to have forgotten. Or perhaps you have been listening to some of those silly persons who talk about everybody being born equal. I've heard my father, the Governor, speak of them and how he has put some of them in his dungeons. You'd better not talk that way, or he may shut you up in some terrible dark hole beneath the castle."
"I'm not afraid!" The black eyes shone.
"Then you must be a very wicked boy. It would serve you right if I was to tell."
"You can!"
"Then I won't! Besides, I'm not a telltale!" She tossed her curls and went on. "I've heard my father say these people who want to be called 'gentilhomme' and 'monsieur' are low and ignorant; they can't even read and write."
Again the red hue mantled the boy's cheek. "I don't believe you can!" she exclaimed shrewdly and clapped her hands. "Can you now?" He did not answer. "'Monsieur'! 'Gentilhomme'!" she repeated.