“My dear, you could not be so cruel. Remember that poor Cupid’s back is naked, and he would quiver under every stroke.”
“I’d never have condescended to meet you, did I dream of your acting so. ’Tis intolerable, the forwardness of you beggarly Scots!”
“Nay, never beggarly, my dear, except where a woman is concerned, and then we beg for favours.”
“You little suspect who I am or you would not venture to misuse me thus, and be so free with your ‘my dears.’”
“Indeed, lass, in that you are mistaken. I not only found you in the garden, but I found your name as well. You are Madeleine de Montmorency.”
She ceased to struggle, and actually laughed a little.
“How clever you are to have discovered so much in such a short time. Now let me go, and I will thank you; nay more, I promise that if you ask the Duke of Montmorency for his permission, and he grants it, I will see you as often as you please.”
“Now Madeleine, I hold you to that, and I will seek an introduction to the duke at once.”
She stepped back from him panting, and sank into a deep courtesy that seemed to be characterised more by ridicule than politeness.