'Where is your man, Marquess?' asked Saint-Pol of the pale Italian.
'He is out yonder looking at the sharks,' said the Marquess, in a whisper; 'but he will serve us if we dare use him.' He struck at the flies weaving about his head. 'This is a horrible place, Saint-Pol,' he said, staring. Saint-Pol shrugged.
'The deed we compass, dear Marquess, is none of the choicest, remember,' said he. The Marquess then saw that Austria's broad leather back was covered with flies. This quickened his loathing.
'By our Saviour,' he said, 'one must hate a man very much to talk against him here.'
'Do you hate enough?' asked Saint-Pol.
The Marquess stared about him. He saw the Archduke peacefully twiddle his thumbs. He saw De Gurdun, who stood moodily, looking at the floor.
'Oh, content you,' Saint-Pol answered him. 'That man hates more than you or I. And with more reason.'
'What are your reasons, Eustace?' asked Montferrat, still in a whisper.
'I hate him,' said Saint-Pol, 'for my brother's sake, whose back he broke; for my sister's sake, whose heart he must break before he has done with her; for my house's sake, to which (in Eudo's person) he gave the lie; because he is of Anjou, cruel as a cat and savage as a dog; because he is a ruthless, swift, treacherous, secret, unconscionable beast. Are these enough reasons for you?'
'By God, Eustace,' said the breathless Montferrat, 'I cannot think it. Not here!'