He was at supper—a meagre collation which drew sundry pungent remarks from Joshua—when there came the sound of a led horse on the cobbles outside. A moment later the door was thrust open, and a young gentleman came in, very out of temper.
He was dressed richly, but dust lay on his fine clothes. He scowled at Beauvallet, seated at the table, and shouted for the landlord. Upon this worthy’s coming the young gentleman burst into a flood of angry talk. His woes seemed to be many. There was, to start with, the excessive dust upon the road which had well-nigh choked him; to go on, there was a sick man at the regular inn some miles back; to crown his troubles his horse had gone lame, the jade, and another must be brought him on the instant.
Having delivered himself of this demand my fine gentleman flung off his cloak, bespoke supper, and sat down on the settle with the air of a thwarted schoolboy.
The problem of horseflesh was beyond the landlord’s solving. He gave his new guest to understand that he had no riding horse in his stables, nor could he tell where any might be found in this hamlet. Monsieur must send to the nearest town, back along the road.
At this monsieur let forth an oath, and declared that he had no time to waste, but must be gone over the Frontier first thing in the morning. Mine host had nothing to say to this, but shrugged sullenly, and turned away. His ear was seized between a finger and thumb. “Look you! a horse, and swiftly!” snarled monsieur.
“I keep no horse,” reiterated the landlord. He rubbed his ear, aggrieved. “There are but two horses in my barn, and they belong to this gentleman.”
Upon this monsieur became aware of Beauvallet, struggling with a tough fowl. He bowed slightly. Sir Nicholas raised an eyebrow, and nodded in return, wasting little ceremony.
“Give you good evening, monsieur.” The young gentleman tried to conceal his ill-temper. “You will have heard that I have suffered a misfortune.”
“Ay, faith, the whole house will have heard it,” said Sir Nicholas, and poured more wine.
Monsieur bit his lip. “I have urgent need of a horse,” he announced. “I shall be happy to buy one or other of your nags, if you will sell.”
“A thousand thanks,” Sir Nicholas answered.
Monsieur brightened. “You will oblige me?”
“Desolated, sir! I cannot oblige you,” said Sir Nicholas, who had small mind to part with his horses.
This seemed final, to be sure. A rich colour mounted to monsieur’s cheeks; he choked back his spleen, and condescended to plead, though stiffly.
Sir Nicholas tilted back his chair, and tucked his hands in his belt. He looked mockingly at the young Frenchman. “My good young sir, I counsel you to be patient,” he said, “You may send to the town in the morning, and procure a horse against your needs. I do not part with mine.”
“One of these nags!” Monsieur snorted. “I do not think that would suit me, sir.”
“And I am quite sure it would not suit me, sir,” said Sir Nicholas.
The Frenchman looked at him with evident dislike. “I have informed you, sir, that my need is instant.”
Sir Nicholas yawned.
For a moment the Frenchman seemed inclined to burst forth into fresh vituperations. He bit his nails, glaring, and took a quick turn about the room. “You use me ungraciously!” he flung over his shoulder.
“Well-a-day!” said Sir Nicholas ironically.
Monsieur took yet another turn, seemed again to choke back some hasty utterance, and at length forced a smile. “Well, I will not quarrel with you,” he said,
“You would find it very difficult,” nodded Sir Nicholas.
Monsieur opened his mouth, shut it again, and swallowed hard. “Permit me to share your board,” he said at last.
“With all my heart, youngling,” Sir Nicholas answered, but there had come a watchful gleam into his eyes.
But the Frenchman seemed to cast aside his evil-humours in good sooth. True, he railed a little at ill-fortune, but was forward with plans for the acquisition of a horse upon the morrow. The plague was on it he could scarce hope to get across the Frontier now for two days. As he remembered the town lay many leagues behind—but he would not complain. He pledged Beauvallet in a brimming cup.
Supper being at an end, monsieur grew restless, complained of the ill-entertainment, pished at the poor light afforded by two tallow candles, and at length proposed an encounter with the dice, if such might chance to jump with monsieur’s humour.
“Excellent well,” said Beauvallet, and banged on the table with his empty cup to summon back the landlord. Dice were brought, more wine was set upon the table, and the evening bade fair to be merry.
The dice rattled in the box. “A main!” said monsieur.
Beauvallet called it, and cast the dice. Monsieur rattled the bones, and threw a nick. Coins were pushed across the greasy boards; fresh wine was poured; the two men bent over the table, absorbed in the game.
It was a merry evening enough. The candles burned low in their sockets; the wine passed freely, and more freely yet; money changed hands, back and forth. At last one of the candles guttered dismally, and went out. Beauvallet thrust back his chair, and passed a hand across his brow. “Enough!” he said, somewhat thickly. “God’s me, after midnight already?” He rose unsteadily, and stretched his arms above his head. This made for a slight stagger. He laughed. “Cup-shotten!” he said, and laughed again, and swayed a little on his toes.
The Frenchman sprang up, steady enough upon his feet, but flushed, and somewhat wild-eyed. He had not drunk as much as Beauvallet. “A last toast!” he cried, and slopped more wine into the empty cups. “To a speedy journey, say I!”
“God save you!” said Beauvallet. He drank deep, and sent the empty cup spinning over his shoulder to crash against the
