"My favorite," observed Chram, making a sign to the renegade Gaul that he moderate his language, "who asks to know whether your wife is young and handsome, my favorite, the Lion of Poitiers, loves to joke, by nature." "I shall then answer the Lion of Poitiers that neither he nor you will be able to decide whether my wife is young and handsome or old and ugly; she is with child and unwell, and will not leave her apartments." "If your wife is with child," replied the Lion of Poitiers, "who may the father be?" "Count, do not mind his raillery. I told you, my friend is a joker by nature." "Chram, I shall not take offence at the jokes of your favorite. Let us proceed to the burg." "Lead the way, count, we shall follow." The joint cavalcades started for the burg, and the conversation proceeded. "Count, admit to our royal master Chram that, in concealing your wife, you keep your treasure under lock and key for fear of its being stolen from you." "My favorite, Spatachair, who holds that language to you, Neroweg, is also of a humorous disposition." "Prince, meseems you select very gay, and perhaps too bold a set of friends." "Neroweg, you hide your wife from us--it is your right. We shall hunt her up in her nest--that is our right. There is no lock or key safe against a good thief. The hunt is up." "Chram, this is another of your humorous friends, I suppose?" "Yes, count, the most humorous of all--the boldest--his name is Imnachair." "And my name is Neroweg; I shall ask seigneur Imnachair what will the thief do when he has found the nest and the dove?" "Neroweg, your wife will tell you all about it, after we shall have discovered the belle--we shall put our hands on that treasure as surely as I am the Lion of Poitiers." "And I," cried Neroweg, "as surely as I am the King's count in this country of Auvergne, shall kill like a dog or a prowling fox whomever would attempt the role of a lion in my house!" "Oh, oh, count, you hold bold language! Is it the brilliant army which you lead at your heels that makes you so audacious?" queried the Prince's favorite, nodding towards Neroweg's ramshackle leudes. "If that band is up to its looks, we are lost!" Two or three of the count's leudes who had been drawing nearer, and heard the insolent jokes of Chram's favorite grumbled aloud in angry accents: "We do not like to see Neroweg bantered!" "A count's leudes are matches for royal leudes!" "The polish of the steel does not make its temper." One of Chram's men turned towards his companions, and laughing, pointed at the count's people with the tip of his lance while sarcastically alluding to their rustic appearance: "Are these plow-slaves disguised as warriors, or warriors disguised as plow-slaves?" The royal cortege answered the sally with a loud outburst of laughter. The two sides were beginning to cast defiant looks at each other when Bishop Cautin cried: