"Dost thou gibe me, Marquis? God wot! I should like to see thee ettle at aught that I will not surpass."
"Then here is a house. Draw, chevaliers!—vive la joie! let us beat up the door, knock down the bourgeoise, and carry off the first pretty woman to my hotel in the Cowgate!"
Lord Coldinghame grasped his cloak, saying—
"Beelzebub! Marquis, art thou mad? 'Tis the house of Master John Knox."
"A million of thunders!" grumbled the Frenchman, falling back abashed on hearing that formidable name; "we should have the whole city about our ears. But come—allons! I will show ye a place better suited for such merry rogues as we than the house of that arch-heretic. There is Madame Alisong Cragg—a notable lady of joy!"
"Bravo, Marquis! thou art right!" exclaimed Bothwell; "my rascal, French Paris, tells me there is a famous foreign beauty concealed there—brought, 'tis said, by Morton or Arran. And dost thou know that the ambassador of Duke Philibert of Savoy—what is his name?"
"The Count di Mezezzo."
"Ah! the same—saw her yesterday as he rode past, and hath raved about her ever since."
"Monsieur l'Ambassadeur has the eyes of Argus for a pretty woman; so allons, messieurs!" said the gay Frenchman, and they all staggered arm-in-arm down the wynd.
"Hark! listen!" said Bothwell.