“This castle has the appearance of a natural stronghold,” said the Count of Nullepart, “although it is little I know of war.”
“Three hundred men should give a proud battle,” said I, “if they have but one half the resolution of their mistress.”
“This is sooth,” said the Englishman; “I think we shall be able to hold the gate against the king.”
“For mine own part,” said the Count of Nullepart in his winning voice, “I would suggest that in the beginning we wear a silk gown over our armour. We have nought to obtain by trying a fall with such an adversary. Ought we not, bethink you, madam, to see what first can be done by the gentleness of our address?”
“That is well said, Sir Count,” said she. “He shall have gentle words in his ears. But remark me, if ever the occasion waits upon us he shall also learn that we keep a sword.”
“Valiancy in action, subtlety in discourse,” said the Count of Nullepart. “No kingdom could ask a choicer wisdom, madam. I drink to you as a proud but as a just and a good princess.”
The sweetness of the Count of Nullepart’s manner made it difficult to tell whether he toasted the lady in her beauty or the queen in her statecraft. Before Sir Richard Pendragon and myself, who viewed his action with no favourable eye, could decide whether such a behaviour was justified at a moment so grave, for madam in spite of her dignity had not thought fit to reprove him for it, there came a grievous interruption to our counsels and the harmony of our board.
His lordship’s grace, with his trusty fat man at his heels, bore down upon us.
“Ods myself,” he whined, shaking his fist, “if I do not put her in a dungeon for this I am unfit to wear hose. Soh! there we have you, little snake, surrounded by your conspirators. Luiz—Luiz; where are you, Luiz? Go, fetch the guard. These three rogues shall be broke on the wheel, and then they shall hang on the gate; and madam herself shall dwell in a dungeon for an hundred days.”
“My lord,” said his daughter calmly, “do not interfere with the business of the state.”