“And hath she actually come hither alone, my lord?” said Lindesay.
“Nay, not altogether alone, but with the old Countess, her kinswoman, who hath yielded to her cousin's wishes in this matter.”
“And will the King,” said Cunningham, “he being the Duke's feudal sovereign, interfere between the Duke and his ward, over whom Charles hath the same right, which, were he himself dead, the King would have over the heiress of Burgundy?”
“The King will be ruled as he is wont, by rules of policy, and you know,” continued Crawford, “that he hath not publicly received these ladies, nor placed them under the protection of his daughters, the Lady of Beaujeu, or the Princess Joan, so, doubtless, he will be guided by circumstances. He is our Master—but it is no treason to say, he will chase with the hounds, and run with the hare, with any prince in Christendom.”
“But the Duke of Burgundy understands no such doubling;” said Cunningham.
“No,” answered the old Lord; “and, therefore, it is likely to make work between them.”
“Well—Saint Andrew further the fray!” said Le Balafre. “I had it foretold me ten, ay, twenty years since, that I was to make the fortune of my house by marriage. Who knows what may happen, if once we come to fight for honour and ladies' love, as they do in the old romaunts.”
“Thou name ladies' love, with such a trench in thy visage!” said Guthrie.
“As well not love at all, as love a Bohemian woman of Heathenesse,” retorted Le Balafre.
“Hold there, comrades,” said Lord Crawford; “no tilting with sharp weapons, no jesting with keen scoffs—friends all. And for the lady, she is too wealthy to fall to a poor Scottish lord, or I would put in my own claim, fourscore years and all, or not very far from it. But here is her health, nevertheless, for they say she is a lamp of beauty.”