"SHE GAVE NO OUTWARD SIGN OF ANGER."
"Why, I should be an ingrate to gainsay that," said he. "Tis indeed matter for thanks that we, sitting by night in this lone country ale-house,—'tis little better,—with the March wind howling wolf-like without, may imbibe, and cheer our souls with, the sunlight that hath fallen in past years upon French hillsides. But we should be churls to despise the vineyards of Spain or Italy, either! Or the Rhenish, that hath gladdened so many a heart and begot so many a song! Lovest thou music, madam?"
She kept a startled silence for a moment, at a loss how to receive the change from "you" to "thou" in his style of addressing her. In truth the familiarity was on his part unpremeditated and innocent. But, for another reason than that, she speedily decided to overlook it, and she answered, in words that gave Hal a sudden thrill, for they were those of one of Master Shakespeare's own comedies, often played by the company:
"The man that hath no music in himself.
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."
She paused here, as if struck with the thought that the speech might not be known to the Catholic knight.
"'Tis Lorenzo's speech in 'The Merchant,'" said Hal, quite ecstatic. "I—" he caught himself in time to avoid saying, "know the part by heart, having studied it in hope of some-day playing it," and added, instead, "saw the comedy in London when 'twas first played, and a friend sent me a book of it last year, that he bought in Paul's Churchyard. Thou'st seen the play, I ween."
"And read it," she answered, this time filling his glass herself, for Francis had stolen from the room with a flagon in quest of more wine at the bar.