“By my hand,” said the Englishman, “this is a kettle of fish.” He fell again into the habit of stroking his chin, and it was remarkable to notice how a certain licence that was formerly to be seen in his demeanour was suddenly found in it no more. “I am fain to observe, madam,” said he with his new gravity, that seemed to have worked a miracle within him, “that here is a pretty work to be done.” “Done it shall be, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said the Countess Sylvia. “If we spend every drop of our blood and that of every liege that is pledged to our service, the Castilian shall not enter here; do you mark me, sirrah!” “We must address ourselves,” said the Englishman, “to providing this garrison with arms and ordnance, sack and sugar, for I am sore to believe we shall have to stand a siege. Madam, we must look to our provision without delay, if we are to throw the gauntlet down.” “It shall be done, sirrah; this Castilian shall have a welcome. How long, bethink you, sirrah, can we hold this place with our three hundred men-at-arms?” “Two years, madam, with sufficient munitions of war. But these are to obtain.” “To-morrow,” said the Countess Sylvia, who, considering that she knew no more of the world than her convent had taught her, showed a great talent for affairs, “the hinds shall drive in the cattle from our outlying farms; and arms and every sort of munition shall be purchased so long as our treasury can provide them.” “This castle has the appearance of a natural stronghold,” said the Count of Nullepart, “although it is little I know of war.” “Three hundred men should give a proud battle,” said I, “if they have but one half the resolution of their mistress.” “This is sooth,” said the Englishman; “I think we shall be able to hold the gate against the king.” “For mine own part,” said the Count of Nullepart in his winning voice, “I would suggest that in the beginning we wear a silk gown over our armour. We have nought to obtain by trying a fall with such an adversary. Ought we not, bethink you, madam, to see what first can be done by the gentleness of our address?” “That is well said, Sir Count,” said she. “He shall have gentle words in his ears. But remark me, if ever the occasion waits upon us he shall also learn that we keep a sword.” “Valiancy in action, subtlety in discourse,” said the Count of Nullepart. “No kingdom could ask a choicer wisdom, madam. I drink to you as a proud but as a just and a good princess.” The sweetness of the Count of Nullepart’s manner made it difficult to tell whether he toasted the lady in her beauty or the queen in her statecraft. Before Sir Richard Pendragon and myself, who viewed his action with no favourable eye, could decide whether such a behaviour was justified at a moment so grave, for madam in spite of her dignity had not thought fit to reprove him for it, there came a grievous interruption to our counsels and the harmony of our board.