Maulfry laughed again as she looked up at her armour. Galors' look followed hers.
"Choose, Galors," she said; "choose, my champion. Choose, Sir Galors de
Born!"
Galors took a long and deliberate survey.
"I will go in black," said he, "and for the rest, since I am no man of race, the coat is indifferent to me." So he began to read and comment upon his texts. "Je tiendray—why, so I shall, but it savours of forecast, brags a little."
"None the worse for my knight," said Maulfry.
"No, no," he laughed, "but let me get something of which to brag first. Hum. Dieu m'en garde—we will leave God out of the reckoning, I think. Designando—I will do more than point out, by the Rood! Jesus, Amor, Ma Dame—I know none of these. Entra per me—Oh brave, brave! 'Tis your latest, dame?"
Maulfry's eyes grew hard and bright. "Choose it, choose, my Galors!" she cried. "And if with that you beat down the red feather, and blind the hooded hawk, you will serve me more than you dream. Oh, choose, choose!"
"Entra per me pleases me, I confess. But what are the arms? Wickets?"
"Three white wicket-gates on a sable field. It was the coat of Salomon de Montguichet."
"Salomon?" said Galors all in a whisper. "Never Salomon? Do you not remember?"