Lord Tancred was quite accustomed to it; he knew Paris well as he had told her, so he ought to have been prepared for what could happen, but he was not.
Perhaps he was not on the alert, because he had never before been there with a woman he loved.
Zara's neighbor was a great, big, fierce-looking creature from some wild quarter of the South, and was perhaps also just a little drunk.

She knew a good deal of their language, but, taking for granted that this Englishman and his lovely lady would be quite ignorant of what they said, the party of men were most unreserved in their remarks.
Her neighbor looked at her devouringly, once or twice, when he saw Tristram could not observe him, and then began to murmur immensely _entreprenant_ love sentences in his own tongue, as he played with his bread.

She knew he had recognized her.

And Tristram wondered why his lady's little nostrils should begin to quiver and her eyes to flash.
She was remembering like scenes in the days of Ladislaus, and how he used to grow wild with jealousy, in the beginning when he took her out, and once had dragged her back upstairs by her hair, and flung her into bed.

It was always her fault when men looked at her, he assured her.