'You have a tongue, lord Basil?
Do you only use it among the wenches ?' A subdued laugh sounded behind the commander's chair.

The envoy from Byzantium showed more discreet appreciation of the jest.

And Basil, his head bowed, would fain have concealed a face burning with angry shame.
'I will do my best,' he replied in a steady voice, 'to answer any question your excellence may put to me.' 'Come, that's better,' said the general, with that affectation of bluff good-nature which always veiled his designs.

'I like the look of you, my good Basil; who knows but we may be friends?
By the bye, was there not some special reason for your coming to see me ?' 'Your excellence summoned me.' 'Yes, yes, I remember.

That affair of the Gothic wench.' Bessas checked himself, glanced at the envoy, and corrected his phrase.