For the bully, furious with anger, had again raised his hand. His companion, somewhat cooler, and seeing the Duke's water-men, caught his arm and began to explain—
"He is no true man, my lady, but a beggarly Frenchman and a spy!—"
"No, no spy!" muttered the man, in imperfect English. He reeled as he spoke, and would have fallen into the water, had not one of our own serving men caught him. The two rogues, seeing with whom they had to deal, began to comprehend that the matter might end badly for them, and slunk away in a hurry.
"Poor man, is he hurt?" asked the Duchess, compassionately. "Speak to him, Mistress Corbet; I dare say he knows Latin."
I did so, but his voice was so faint that I could not catch his answer.
"I believe the man is starved, my lady," said John Symonds, who was supporting him. "He is naught but a bag of bones. Some beef and strong-water would be the best remedy for his ail."
"With your Grace's leave, I will take this poor man in charge," said a well-known voice, and Master Hall lifted his cap to the Duchess. "He hath but fainted, as I think. Loveday, have you your scenting bottle about you?"
The Duchess looked surprised enough to hear this strange merchant call me by name. I handed him the bottle of strong perfume, which ladies then as now carried in their packets, but the poor sufferer had already opened his eyes.
"Food—food!" said he. "I starve."
By this time a crowd was gathered.