"The Duchess of Gascony, sir," he repeated. "There are a few persons
who call her Highness the Queen of France, doubtless without meaning to
give offence."
Gilbert smiled in spite of himself, but the knight's eyes took fire
instantly.
"Do you laugh at me, sir?" he asked, his hand going back to his sword,
and his right foot advancing a little as if he meant to draw.
"No, sir. I crave your pardon if I smiled, admiring your Gascon
loyalty."
The other was instantly pacified, smiled too, and waved his long arm
several times.
"I come, then, from her Grace the Duchess," he said, insisting on the
title, "to express to you her sovereign thanks for the service you did
her the other day. Her Grace has been much busied by the councils, else
she would have sent me sooner."
"I am most respectfully grateful for the message," answered Gilbert,
rather coldly, "and I beg you, sir, to accept my appreciation of the
pains you have taken to bring it to me."
"Sir, I am most wholly at your service," replied the knight, again
laying his hand upon his heart. "But besides words the Duchess sends
you, by my hand, a more substantial evidence of her gratitude."
He turned and took the heavy leather bag from his attendant soldier,
and offered it to Gilbert, holding it out in his two hands, and coming
nearer. Gilbert stepped back when he saw what it was. The money was for
a deed which might have cost Beatrix her life. He felt sick at the
sight of it, as if it had been as the price of blood which Judas took.
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