"What had you to do with my safety, my most princely cousin, I would pray to know?" answered Dunois gruffly; – "What, in God's name, was it to you, if I had a mind to be hanged or strangled, or flung into the Loire, or poniarded, or broke on the wheel, or hung up alive in an iron cage, or buried alive in a castle-fosse, or disposed of in any other way in which it might please King Louis to get rid of his faithful subject? – (you need not wink and frown, and point to Tristan l'Hermite – I see the scoundrel as well as you do.) But it would not have stood so hard with me – And so much for my safety. And then for your own honour – by the blush of Saint Magdalene, I think the honour would have been to have missed this morning's work, or kept it out of sight. Here has your highness got yourself unhorsed by a wild Scottish boy."
"Tut, tut!" said Lord Crawford; "never shame his Highness for that. It is not the first time a Scottish boy hath broke a good lance – I am glad the youth hath borne him well."
"I will say nothing to the contrary," said Dunois; "yet, had your Lordship come something later than you did, there might have been a vacancy in your band of Archers."
"Ay, ay," answered Lord Crawford; "I can read your handwriting in that cleft morion. – Some one take it from the lad, and give him a bonnet, which, with its steel lining, will keep his head better than that broken loom. – And let me tell your Lordship, that your own armour of proof is not without some marks of good Scottish handwriting. – But, Dunois, I must now request the Duke of Orleans and you to take horse and accompany me, as I have power and commission to convey you to a place different from that which my good-will might assign you."
"May I not speak one word, my Lord of Crawford, to yonder fair ladies?" said the Duke of Orleans.
"Not one syllable," answered Lord Crawford; "I am too much a friend of your Highness to permit such an act of folly." – Then, addressing Quentin, he added, "You, young man, have done your duty. Go on to obey the charge with which you are instrusted."
"Under favour, my Lord," said Tristan, with his usual brutality of manner, "the youth must find another guide. I cannot do without Petit-André, when there is so like to be business on hand for him."
"The young man," said Petit-André, now coming forward, "has only to keep the path which lies straight before him, and it will conduct him to a place where he will find the man who is to act as his guide. – I would not for a thousand ducats be absent from my Chief this day! I have hanged knights and squires many a one, and wealthy Echevins, and burgomasters to boot – even counts and marquisses have tasted of my handywork – but, a-humph" – He looked at the Duke, as if to intimate that he would have filled up the blank, with "a Prince of the blood!" – "Ho, ho, ho! Petit-André, thou wilt be read of in Chronicle!"
"Do you permit your ruffians to hold such language in such a presence?" said Crawford, looking sternly to Tristan.
"Why do you not correct him yourself, my Lord?" said Tristan, sullenly.