"
"By St. Martin of Tours!" shouted the fat knight, his wrath all
changed in an instant to joy, "if it is not my dear little game
rooster of the Garonne. Ah, my sweet coz, I am right glad to see
you. What days we have seen together!"
"Aye, by my faith," cried Sir Nigel, with sparkling eyes, "we
have seen some valiant men, and we have shown our pennons in some
noble skirmishes. By St. Paul! we have had great joys in
France."
"And sorrows also," quoth the other. "I have some sad memories
of the land. Can you recall that which befell us at Libourne?"
"Nay, I cannot call to mind that we ever so much as drew sword at
the place."
"Man, man," cried Sir Oliver, "your mind still runs on nought but
blades and bassinets. Hast no space in thy frame for the softer
joys. Ah, even now I can scarce speak of it unmoved. So noble a
pie, such tender pigeons, and sugar in the gravy instead of salt!
You were by my side that day, as were Sir Claude Latour and the
Lord of Pommers."
"I remember it," said Sir Nigel, laughing, "and how you harried
the cook down the street, and spoke of setting fire to the inn.
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