“Master Hubert,” began Master Hubert's companion, in his deepest and sternest bass, “I don't know your other name, and it would be of no consequence if I did—just listen to me a moment. If you don't want to get run through (you perceive I carry a sword), and have an untimely end put to your career, just keep a civil tongue in your head, and don't slander England. Now come on!”
Hubert laughed and shrugged his shoulders:
“Thought is free, however, so I can have my own opinion in spite of everything. Will you tell me, monsieur, where I can find the lady?”
“You will have it, will you?” exclaimed Sir Norman, half drawing his sword. “Don't ask questions, but answer them. Are you French?”
“Monsieur has guessed it.”
“How long have you been with your present master?”
“Monsieur, I object to that term,” said Hubert, with calm dignity. “Master is a vulgarism that I dislike; so, in alluding to his lordship, take the trouble to say, patron.”
Sir Norman laughed.
“With all my heart! How long, then, have you been with your present patron?”
“Not quite two weeks.”