“Why do you indulge, Sir Count, in this immoderation?” said madam curiously.
“The court of France is such an uncommonly dull place, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, with the mirth still in his eyes.
“Do you forget, Sir Count,” said madam haughtily, “that France is our nephew?”
“I do not forget it, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart; “I only marvel the more that such an aunt should have such a nephew.”
Again the Count of Nullepart began to laugh immoderately, and it was plain by the demeanour of our mistress that she must have reproved his behaviour had she not been altogether disarmed by his words.
It was here, as became a high-born caballero of my nation, that I advanced my own claims to this service, however modest they might appear. After all, my two worthy coadjutors, whatever their honour and their merit, were no more than foreigners, and this was the business of Spain.
“Under your favour, madam,” said I, “I am a kinsman of the Sardas y Boegas, whose boast it hath been since the time of Alban II. that they have served a prince of Spain. By right of natural affinity I claim to serve your grace.”
“You, brother,” said the English giant, breaking into a great roar, “you claim to serve her grace! Why, brother, you will best serve the grace of her ladyship by holding her trencher when she eats her nuncheon.”
Madam, however, inclined a courteous ear.
“And further, noble countess,” said I, under the encouragement of her regard, “this embassy is like to be one of peril. The road to France is dangerous, and much of it is the dominion of an enemy.”