"Are you seeking knight-service? If so, you had better turn your horse's head towards Burgundy, where Duke Philip III. is putting his sword to the grindstone."
"Nay, messire," replied Gray, with increasing displeasure; "I have come on a mission from the court of Scotland, where I have the honour to be Captain of the King's Guard."
"Your name?"
"Sir Patrick Gray, younger of that ilk."
"And this mission?" said the other hastily.
"Concerns not you, messire, but the marriage of the Princess Mary d'Egmont," replied Gray, moving his horse away.
"To your young king?—good. You have, then, a letter for—for the duke?" said the other, following him.
"Yes."
"Permit me to see it. Excuse me, messire, but I have both reason and authority for my request."
Gray, who thought he had been rather unwise in stating the object of his mission to a total stranger, reluctantly opened a pocket in his saddlelap, and drew forth a large square letter, which was covered with a silken wrapper, tied with white ribbon crosswise, and sealed with yellow wax, the colour used by the kings of Scotland and France.