“The reservation is wise. For if I were dead, Messire Edward, there would be none to know that you risk all for a drained goblet, for an orange already squeezed—quite dry, messire.”
“Face of God!” the Prince said.
But de Gâtinais flung back both arms in a great gesture, so that he knocked a flask of claret from the table at his rear. “I am candid, my Prince. I would not see any brave gentleman slain in a cause so foolish. In consequence I kiss and tell. In effect, I was eloquent, I was magnificent, so that in the end her reserve was shattered like the wooden flask yonder at our feet. Is it worth while, think you, that our blood flow like this flagon’s contents?”
“Liar!” Prince Edward said, very softly. “O hideous liar! Already your eyes shift!” He drew near and struck the Frenchman. “Talk and talk and talk! and lying talk! I am ashamed while I share the world with a thing as base as you.”
De Gâtinais hurled upon him, cursing, sobbing in an abandoned fury. In an instant the place resounded like a smithy, for there were no better swordsmen living than these two. The eavesdropper could see nothing clearly. Round and round they veered in a whirl of turmoil. Presently Prince Edward trod upon the broken flask, smashing it. His foot slipped in the spilth of wine, and the huge body went down like an oak, his head striking one leg of the table.
“A candle!” de Gâtinais cried, and he panted now—“a hundred candles to the Virgin of Beaujolais!” He shortened his sword to stab the Prince of England.
The eavesdropper came through the doorway, and flung herself between Prince Edward and the descending sword. The sword dug deep into her shoulder, so that she shrieked once with the cold pain of this wound. Then she rose, ashen. “Liar!” she said. “Oh, I am shamed while I share the world with a thing as base as you!”
In silence de Gâtinais regarded her. There was a long interval before he said, “Ellinor!” and then again, “Ellinor!” like a man bewildered.
“I was eloquent, I was magnificent” she said, “so that in the end her reserve was shattered! Certainly, messire, it is not your death which I desire, since a man dies so very, very quickly. I desire for you—I know not what I desire for you!” the girl wailed.
“You desire that I should endure this present moment,” de Gâtinais replied; “for as God reigns, I love you, of whom I have spoken infamy, and my shame is very bitter.”