"The bleeding bird? Ah! the token, you would say."
"Yes, Messire, yes! The pelican in piety—the torn breast! The I and F. Ah! blood enough shed, blood enough. Go quickly, Sir Prosper, and testify for your name; 'tis of good omen and better report. And have you killed that sick wolf Galors, Messire? There, there, God will bless you for that, and prosper you as you have prospered us!"
Galors swallowed the pill and went out with no more ceremony. Falve ran after him.
"Eh, eh, Messire!" he spluttered. Galors let him splutter till they were within the courtyard. Then he called to a trooper.
"Take this man and flog him well," said he. Falve was seized.
"Ah, my lording," cried he, "what do you there? Must I be flogged because I have lost my wife?"
"No, dog. But because you have married mine."
"Nay, nay, mercy, my lording! I have not yet married her."
"Ha!" said Galors, "then you shall be flogged for jilting her."
And flogged he was. And the flogging cost Galors his prize.