“My commission in no way leads me to answer such a question,” said he of the purple mantle.
“But if I am offended” said Roland, “may I not draw to defend myself?”
“Not this weapon,” answered the sword-bearer; “but you have your own at command, and, besides, for what do you wear your poniard?”
“For no good,” said Adam Woodcock, who had now approached close to them, “and that I can witness as well as any one.”
“Stand back, fellow,” said the messenger, “thou hast an intrusive curious face, that will come by a buffet if it is found where it has no concern.”
“A buffet, my young Master Malapert?” said Adam, drawing back, however; “best keep down fist, or, by Our Lady, buffet will beget buffet!”
“Be patient, Adam Woodcock,” said Roland Graeme; “and let me pray you, fair sir, since by such addition you choose for the present to be addressed, may I not barely unsheathe this fair weapon, in pure simplicity of desire to know whether so fair a hilt and scabbard are matched with a befitting blade?”
“By no manner of means,” said the messenger; “at a word, you must take it under the promise that you never draw it until you receive the commands of your lawful Sovereign, or you must leave it alone.”
“Under that condition, and coming from your friendly hand, I accept of the sword,” said Roland, taking it from his hand; “but credit me, if we are to work together in any weighty emprise, as I am induced to believe, some confidence and openness on your part will be necessary to give the right impulse to my zeal—I press for no more at present, it is enough that you understand me.”
“I understand you!” said the page, exhibiting the appearance of unfeigned surprise in his turn,—“Renounce me if I do!—here you stand jiggeting, and sniggling, and looking cunning, as if there were some mighty matter of intrigue and common understanding betwixt you and me, whom you never set your eyes on before!”