Madam herself was disposed to entrust it to the charge of the Count of Nullepart, since the grace of his appearance and the charm of his address and his knowledge of the conduct of high diplomacy seemed to mark him out for a mission of this nature. Yet no sooner had our mistress shown a disposition to give this sanction to the Count of Nullepart than Sir Richard Pendragon took umbrage. “Good countess and ladyship,” said he, “by the body of God! I would not have you consider Richard Pendragon froward or lacking in his devoirs to one who deserves all homage. But can you have forgotten, madam, that the blood of kings flows under the doublet of that high-minded and courteous knight, of that gentle-nurtured and civil-tongued emblem of English chivalry, who has moved in court circles since his natal hour?” “Your merit is ever before us, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said the Countess Sylvia, who still permitted the English giant to stand in high favour. “Your claims are honourable, but the worshipful Count of Nullepart has natural parts.” Sir Richard Pendragon turned down his lip with the look of a child that is petulant. “By your leave, noble countess,” he said, “Richard Pendragon claims precedence in this high business by right of consanguinity. His royal nature, the lineal strain of Uthyr, cannot suffer it that Mounseer Nullepart, who is passing honest and a good fellow, shall take precedence of him at the court of France.” Upon this speech of the Englishman, the Count of Nullepart was moved to smile in a fashion so subtle that he was fain to cover his face with his hand, as if to withhold its meaning. “Not for the world, Sir Richard,” he said, with his eyes full of laughter--“nay, not for a thousand worlds would I take precedence of you at the court of France.” As he spoke he was overwhelmed by a sudden and uncontrollable mirth. “Why do you indulge, Sir Count, in this immoderation?” said madam curiously. “The court of France is such an uncommonly dull place, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, with the mirth still in his eyes. “Do you forget, Sir Count,” said madam haughtily, “that France is our nephew?” “I do not forget it, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart; “I only marvel the more that such an aunt should have such a nephew.” Again the Count of Nullepart began to laugh immoderately, and it was plain by the demeanour of our mistress that she must have reproved his behaviour had she not been altogether disarmed by his words. It was here, as became a high-born caballero of my nation, that I advanced my own claims to this service, however modest they might appear. After all, my two worthy coadjutors, whatever their honour and their merit, were no more than foreigners, and this was the business of Spain. “Under your favour, madam,” said I, “I am a kinsman of the Sardas y Boegas, whose boast it hath been since the time of Alban II. that they have served a prince of Spain. By right of natural affinity I claim to serve your grace.”