"Ha! why don't you answer? Don't you hear? Can you speak only your own heathen tongue?" continued Lothaire. "The Norman is no heathen tongue!" said Richard, at once breaking silence in a loud voice. "We are as good Christians as you are--ay, and better too." "Hush! hush! my Lord!" said Osmond. "What now, Sir Duke," again interfered the King, in an angry tone, "are you brawling already? Time, indeed, I should take you from your own savage court. Sir Squire, look to it, that you keep your charge in better rule, or I shall send him instantly to bed, supperless." "My Lord, my Lord," whispered Osmond, "see you not that you are bringing discredit on all of us?" "I would be courteous enough, if they would be courteous to me," returned Richard, gazing with eyes full of defiance at Lothaire, who, returning an angry look, had nevertheless shrunk back to his mother. She meanwhile was saying, "So strong, so rough, the young savage is, he will surely harm our poor boys!" "Never fear," said Louis; "he shall be watched. And," he added in a lower tone, "for the present, at least, we must keep up appearances. Hubert of Senlis, and Hugh of Paris, have their eyes on us, and were the boy to be missed, the grim old Harcourt would have all the pirates of his land on us in the twinkling of an eye. We have him, and there we must rest content for the present. Now to supper." At supper, Richard sat next little Carloman, who peeped at him every now and then from under his eyelashes, as if he was afraid of him; and presently, when there was a good deal of talking going on, so that his voice could not be heard, half whispered, in a very grave tone, "Do you like salt beef or fresh?" "I like fresh," answered Richard, with equal gravity, "only we eat salt all the winter." There was another silence, and then Carloman, with the same solemnity, asked, "How old are you?" "I shall be nine on the eve of St. Boniface. How old are you?" "Eight. I was eight at Martinmas, and Lothaire was nine three days since." Another silence; then, as Osmond waited on Richard, Carloman returned to the charge, "Is that your Squire?" "Yes, that is Osmond de Centeville." "How tall he is!" "We Normans are taller than you French." "Don't say so to Lothaire, or you will make him angry." "Why? it is true." "Yes; but--" and Carloman sunk his voice--"there are some things which Lothaire will not hear said. Do not make him cross, or he will make my mother displeased with you. She caused Thierry de Lincourt to be scourged, because his ball hit Lothaire's face." "She cannot scourge me--I am a free Duke," said Richard. "But why? Did he do it on purpose?" "Oh, no!" "And was Lothaire hurt?" "Hush! you must say Prince Lothaire. No; it was quite a soft ball." "Why?" again asked Richard--"why was he scourged?" "I told you, because he hit Lothaire."