"
"Mort de Dieu!" cried Sir Guy, as he gazed at Bertrand with a look
betwixt laughter and amaze, "and what said your worshipful uncle to
that same message?"
"At the first, he told me, he broke into a great laugh, and bid the
honest fellow box the girl's ears well, and send her back to her
mother. But he added that the man had been to him once again, and
had pleaded that at least he would see his niece before sending her
away; and since by this time he was himself somewhat curious to see
and to question this village maiden, who came with so strange a
tale, he had told Laxart to bring her at noon that very day, and he
desired that I and certain others should be there in the hall with
him, to hear her story, and perhaps suggest some shrewd question
which might help to test her good faith."
"A good thought," spoke Sir Guy, "for it is hard to believe in
these dreamers of dreams. I have met such myself--they talk great
swelling words, but the world wags on its way in spite of them.
They are no prophets; they are bags of wind.
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