The knight surveyed the monk for a moment, and then said, “As thou art not my particular Father Confessor, stick to those matters which concern thee.”
This reply did not please any man present, for it seemed to savour of disrespect. But Elaine lost no chance of watching the youth, who now stood alone in the middle of the hall. Sir Francis detected this, and smiled with a sly smile.
“Will some person inquire of this polite young man,” he said, “what he wishes with us?”
“Show me where this Dragon of Wantley comes,” said Geoffrey, “for I intend to slay him to-night.”
“Indeed, sir,” fluttered Elaine, stepping towards him a little, “I hope—that is, I beg you’ll do no such dangerous thing as that for my sake.”
“For your sake?” Father Anselm broke in. “For your sake? And why so? What should Elaine, daughter of Sir Godfrey Disseisin, care for the carcase of Geoffrey, son of Bertram of Poictiers?”
But Elaine, finding nothing to answer, turned rosy pink instead.
“That rules you out!” exclaimed the Father, in triumph. “Your legend demands a maid who never has cared for any man.”
“Pooh!” said Geoffrey, “leave it to me.”
“Seize him!” shouted Sir Godfrey in a rage. “He had ruled out my daughter.” Consistency had never been one of the Baron’s strong points.