Upon receipt of these the keeper of the auberge approached Sir Richard Pendragon, yet with a good deal of wariness, and said, “Monsieur, I am instructed by the gentlemen of the King’s Guard to inform you that, whoever you may be, your behaviour is intolerable. But as you and your companions are clearly of a foreign nation, they are loth to admonish you. Yet I am to inform you that if you do not immediately put up your sword and withdraw from this apartment, you will compel them to visit you according to your merit.” Now, although the keeper of the auberge, having both right and might at his elbow, had spoken with a well-considered civility which is rare in his class, and the words that he had been instructed to use were those of an admirable moderation, which in the circumstances did honour to his patrons, they were not accepted by Sir Richard Pendragon in a spirit of forbearance. “Do you presume to outface a Pendragon, you French dog?” he roared. “For a pint of sherris I would pull your neck.” Speaking thus, the Englishman took up a cup half full of the wine that was near to him, and flung it full at the head of the innkeeper. In spite, however, of this new affront to their ambassador, the gentlemen of the King’s Guard showed no disposition to hurry their measures. Again they conversed among themselves; and then a thin, tall man, with a visage exceeding melancholy, not, however, in the king’s livery, yet attired in a dress of sober richness, rose slowly from the table at which he had been playing at the cards. There was something of majesty in his movements, and as he approached the Count of Nullepart and myself with a cold air, his mien was worthy of a cardinal. “I would speak with you, my friends,” he said in a deep and musical voice, yet the tone was such as he would have used to his lackeys. The Count of Nullepart shook his head solemnly, as though he understood not a word, and said in a rude Spanish, “I have not your language, Señor Soldado.” I had to make a similar confession, but, as I hope, in a purer idiom. “Muy bien,” said this distinguished French gentleman, speaking in a very tolerable Spanish that put the Count of Nullepart’s to shame and compared not unfavourably with my own, “Very well, my friends, a word in your ears. Your conduct is worthy of the highest censure, but the gentlemen of the King’s Guard are not accustomed to turn their hands against the canaille. All the same, they pray you to have a care.” Thus having spoken with a degree of insolent contempt that few could have equalled, this Frenchman, and I am sure among his own nation he must have taken rank as a great lord, turned his back upon us with a high degree of disdain, and proceeded to regard Sir Richard Pendragon. The English giant met him with a sleepy indifference. Thereupon the Frenchman lowered his gaze to an amused contempt, and withdrew Sir Richard Pendragon’s sword from the floor.