“To your chamber, young mistress—to your chamber!” exclaimed the Count to Isabelle, who, flinging down her veil, retired in all haste—“which should be exchanged for a cell, and bread and water.—And you, gentle sir, who are so malapert, the time will come when the interests of kings and kingdoms may not be connected with such as you are; and you shall then learn the penalty of your audacity in raising your beggarly eyes—”
“Hush! hush!—enough said—rein up—rein up,” said the old Lord “and you, Quentin, I command you to be silent, and begone to your quarters.—There is no such room for so much scorn, neither, Sir Count of Crevecoeur, that I must say now he is out of hearing.—Quentin Durward is as much a gentleman as the King, only, as the Spaniard says, not so rich. He is as noble as myself, and I am chief of my name. Tush, tush! man, you must not speak to us of penalties.”
“My lord, my lord,” said Crevecoeur impatiently, “the insolence of these foreign mercenaries is proverbial, and should receive rather rebuke than encouragement from you, who are their leader.”
“My Lord Count,” answered Crawford, “I have ordered my command for these fifty years without advice either from Frenchman or Burgundian; and I intend to do so, under your favour, so long as I shall continue to hold it.”
“Well, well, my lord,” said Crevecoeur, “I meant you no disrespect; your nobleness, as well as your age, entitle you to be privileged in your impatience; and for these young people. I am satisfied to overlook the past, since I will take care that they never meet again.”
“Do not take that upon your salvation, Crevecoeur,” said the old Lord, laughing; “mountains, it is said, may meet, and why not mortal creatures that have legs, and life and love to put those legs in motion? Yon kiss, Crevecoeur, came tenderly off—methinks it was ominous.”
“You are striving again to disturb my patience,” said Crevecoeur, “but I will not give you that advantage over me.—-Hark! they toll the summons to the Castle—an awful meeting, of which God only can foretell the issue.”
“This issue I can foretell,” said the old Scottish lord, “that if violence is to be offered to the person of the King, few as his friends are, and surrounded by his shall neither fall alone nor unavenged; and grieved I am that his own positive orders have prevented my taking measures to prepare for such an issue.”
“My Lord of Crawford,” said the Burgundian, “to anticipate such evil is the sure way to give occasion to it. Obey the orders of your royal master, and give no pretext for violence by taking hasty offence, and you will find that the day will pass over more smoothly than you now conjecture.”