“Sang Dieu, Alixe, thou hast done that well! Thou sayest he will also attack the pât from your hand?”
Alixe merely nodded. To all appearances, she was wholly engrossed with the bird, which she continued to handle. Gerault and Courtoise had come close to her side, though the falcon betrayed its displeasure at their approach. All three of them had been silent for some seconds, when Alixe turned her green eyes upon the Seigneur, and, looking at him with a glance that carried discomfort with it, said in a very precise and cutting tone:
“So you leave Le Crépuscule to-morrow, Gerault? And for how long?”
“That I cannot tell,” answered Gerault, exhibiting no annoyance. “For as long a time as Duke Jean will accept my services.”
“Ah! then there will be fighting. I had not heard of a war. Tell me of it.”
Gerault became suddenly embarrassed and correspondingly displeased. “Of what import can it be to you, a woman, whether there is war or peace?” he inquired.
“Oh, there is great import.”
“Prithee, what may it be?”
“This: that an there were indeed a war thou mightest be forgiven thy great selfishness in going forth to pleasure, leaving thy mother here in her loneliness and sorrow; whereas—”
“Silence, Alixe! Thine insolence merits the whip,” cried Courtoise.