"Indeed!" sneered Champfleurie.
"Yes!" replied Florence, unsheathing his sword with a fury no longer restrainable; for during this strange conversation he had gradually been drawing the captain towards the Nether Baillery, a secluded part of the fortress. "Defend yourself, villain, lest I kill you where you stand!"
"Stay!—stay!" exclaimed the other, defending himself only by his left arm, round which he quickly rolled his velvet mantle.
"Why stay? Would you confess? If so, the queen's chaplain——"
"Bah! Confession went out with the cardinal last year. But hold your wrath, sir, and put up your sword; remember where we are, and that our lands are forfeited to the Lord High Constable if we draw weapons within the precincts of a royal castle or palace, and must I remind you that the queen's fortress of Stirling is both. Moreover, my Lord of Errol, the constable, once caught me kissing his lady's hand; and husbands have troublesome memories sometimes."
"Sir, I thank you for the lesson; in my just anger I forgot where we were. But we need have no lack of a trysting-place."
"No sir, if you are thus stout and resolute," replied the captain, coming close, with a sombre frown on his face; for being as perfectly master of his temper as of his sword, he was the deadlier and more dangerous enemy. "At sunset I will meet you beside the Roman Rock, below the castle wall."
"Good! Till then——"
"Adieu."
And with a stern salute they both separated.