The unabated scrutiny of these two individuals at last caused such a sensation of discomfort to Francesco, who imagined that all eyes must have read and guessed his secret, that he regretted having remained under the same roof, and, but for his unfamiliarity with the roads, he would have been tempted even now to pay his reckoning and to leave the Abbey. But even while he was weighing this resolve, he surprised the gaze of the older of the two resting upon him with an expression of such undisguised mockery that at last his restraint gave way.
Rising from his seat, he slowly strode to the table where the two strangers were seated.
"Why are you staring at me?" he curtly addressed the older, who seemed in no wise abashed by his action.
"Fair son," said that personage, "you seem, from your temper and quality, at the right age to prosper, whether among men or women—if you but serve the right master. And, being in quest of a varlet for him to whom I owe fealty, I was pondering if you were too high-born to accept such a service."
Francesco regarded the speaker curiously.
"If your offer is made in good faith, I thank you," he said. "But I fear I should be altogether unfit for the service of your master!"
"Perchance you are more proficient with the pen than the sword," replied his interlocutor. "That may be mended with time."
"The monks have taught me to read and write. But if any one question my courage, let them not provoke me."
"Magnificent," drawled he of the Leaden Lamb. "By Our Lady of Lourdes! He whom you serve would greatly miss a Paladin like you, if perchance the truce should suddenly be broken!"