“Mon Dieu!” cried the courtier, livid with passion, “I have a mind to run you through the body, you canary-coloured barbarian!” “A mind, did you say, good jackanapes?” said the Englishman, with a roar of laughter. “Why, a thousand such poor dogs could not muster a mind among you.” By now all the persons in the room were gathered around us. The grave among them were amazed; the young, and particularly those that were female, shaken with mirth; and the rest in all degrees of anger, incredulity, excitement, and a desire for diversion. Yet so sorely incensed was this youthful gallant that I verily believe, the place and the company notwithstanding, he would have been moved to an act of open violence to avenge the insult that had been set upon him, had there not stepped forth from the throng one who bore every mark of dignity and high consideration. “I ask your pardon, Monsieur Ambassador,” said he with a courtesy that was very grave, “but if it is your desire to have an audience of his majesty the King, will you have the good kindness to accompany me into another room.” “I am at your service, mounseer,” said the Englishman. “I will go with you willingly. It will give one who carries the blood of kings under his doublet a great deal of pleasure to escape out of this kennel in which his cousin of France keeps his puppy dogs.” Speaking thus, our leader threw a glance around him of great effrontery, which ministered further to the amazement of those who were present. He then followed this high officer of the court into another room. The Count of Nullepart and myself accompanied him. Here we found ourselves alone, which, considering Sir Richard Pendragon’s present humour, I cannot help thinking was a fortunate circumstance. The chamberlain withdrew in order to convey our business to his royal master. No sooner had he done so than the Count of Nullepart broke forth into an outburst of inextinguishable laughter. Sir Richard Pendragon viewed the Count of Nullepart’s demeanour with a grave disdain. Further, he assured me privily, that “a man’s nation could not hide itself when his foot was on his native soil. Mounseer Nullepart was a good fellow enough, but there was no mistaking his nationality.” In so far as the Englishman deplored the Count of Nullepart’s levity I was in accord with him. Yet, for my own part, having the sangre azul of Spain in my veins, which is apt to insist that a courtly bearing is beyond all things essential to him who would converse with the great of the earth, I could not help but regret the manner in which our leader had invaded the palace of the most Christian prince.