“There is no Duke of Montesina; his lordship’s grace was deposed at twelve o’clock this day. Myself am the master and the mistress here.”
“She speaks sooth, Master Envoy,” said Sir Richard Pendragon. “If the gracious countess so much as frowns since this morning, every stick and stone within these walk doth fall into a most violent trembling.”
“My business is with his grace the Duke of Montesina,” said the envoy staunchly.
“Do I not tell thee his lordship’s grace is deposed?” said the Countess Sylvia. “He is as weak in his mind as a seamew.”
“And I venture, Master Envoy,” said I, with a touch of our famous northern penetration, “to suggest that the king your master is aware of this calamity.”
“That is nothing to the case, sir,” said the envoy, waiving this inconvenient suggestion aside. “My business is with your master the duke, and I would fain transact it.”
“There is no duke, do I not tell thee, stupid one!” said the Countess Sylvia. “Do I not say he is deposed?”
“Deposed!” cried his lordship’s grace, hearing the words of his daughter and understanding them, for although his wits were deranged they were susceptible of strong flashes of reason. “Deposed! Who speaks thus? Who dares say that there is no duke? I would have you to know, Master Ambassador, and all the world to know it also, that there is a duke, and he is a duke of vim and valiance. Deposed! Ods myself! these are the words of a wicked hulks. As I am a parent, Master Ambassador, I have the most ingrateful daughter in Spain.”
“Envoy,” said the Countess Sylvia, “I pray you do not heed that old man. He is as immoderate in his motions as a frog in a moist afternoon. His wits are weak; there is a cloud in his mind; he babbles foolishly.”
“Luiz!” cried the duke—“where’s my good Luiz? Where art thou, Luiz? Fetch the guard, good gossip, and as I am a parent, this ingrateful hulks shall go to the house of correction.”