"Time changes many things," he said, with a discretion that desired to soften the silence; "we go from cradle to throne in one score years, from life to clay in a moment. Pay no homage to circumstance. The wave covers the rock, but the granite shows again its glistening poll when the water has fallen. A Hercules can strangle Fate. As for me, I know not whether I have soared in the estimation of heaven; yet I can swear that I have lost much of the vagabond, sinful soul that straddled my shoulders in the past." There was a warm ruggedness about the man, a flippant self-knowledge, that touched the girl’s fancy. He was either a strong soul, or an utter charlatan, posing as a Diogenes. She preferred the former picture in her heart, and began to question him again with a species of picturesque insolence. "I presume, messire," she said, "that you have some purpose in life. From my brief dealings with you, I should deem you a very superior footpad. I gather that it is your intention to rob me. I confess that you seem a gentleman at the business." The man of the red cloak laughed in his helmet. "To be frank, madame," he said, "you may dub me a gatherer of taxes." "Explain." "Being unfortunates and outcasts from the lawful ways of life, my men and I seek to remedy the injustice of the world by levying toll on folk more happy than ourselves." "Then you condemn me as fortunate?" "Your defence, madame." The girl smiled with her lips, but her eyes were hard and bright as steel. "I might convince you otherwise," she said, "but no matter. Why should I be frank with a thief, even though he be nobly born?" "Because, madame, the thief may be of service to the lady." "I have little silver for your wallet." "Am I nothing but a money-bag!" She looked up at him with a straight stare; her voice was level, even imperious. "Put up your vizor," she said to him. The man in the black harness hesitated, then obeyed her. She could see little of his face, however, save that it was bronzed, and that the eyes were very masterful. She ventured further in the argument, being bent on fathoming the baser instincts of the business. "Knight of the red shield," she said. "Madame?" "I ask you an honest question. If you would serve me, speak the truth, and let me know my peril. Are you the Lord Flavian of Gambrevault, or no?" The man never hesitated an instant. There was no wavering to cast doubt upon his sincerity, or upon his intelligence as a liar. "No, madame," he answered her, "I am not the Lord of Gambrevault and Avalon, and may I, for the sake of my own neck, never come single-handed within his walls. I have an old feud with the lords of Gambrevault, and when the chance comes, I shall settle it heavily to my credit. If you have any ill to say of the gentleman, pray say it, and be happy in my sympathy." "Ha," she said, with a sudden flash of malice, "I would give my soul for that fellow’s head."