“But you have not paid the woman.”
“I offered her ample, sir, and she refused it.”
“Bah! Leave that to me,” said the King haughtily. “But what about you, Denis, boy? Don’t tell me that you are too bad to mount, and force me to stay in this vile nest of thieves.”
“No, sir. If Saint Simon will help me to mount, I’ll manage to ride the long night through; but I fear if there is need that I could not fight.”
The King hesitated, and stood striking his two stout riding gloves twisted together sharply in his left hand.
“Yes, you look hurt, boy. Perhaps it will be better that we should stay. We could hold one room, unless they burnt us out, and take turn and turn to watch.”
“Oh no, sir; I am well enough to go,” cried the lad. “Here, Saint Simon, give me a leg up. I am better now, and shall feel easier still when in the saddle.”
“Keep back, Saint Simon!” said the King. “Let me be the judge of that. Here, your foot, boy? Do you hear me, sir? Quick!”
The lad raised his foot as the King impatiently clasped his hands stirrup fashion and raised the young horseman smartly, so that he flung his right leg over and dropped lightly into the saddle.
“Well,” continued the King, as he watched his young esquire keenly, “can you sit there, or are you going to swoon?”