You have, if I may say so, something of his gallant bearing and something of his grace." Wogan could have heard no words more distressing to him at this moment.
"Oh, stop, sir.

I pray you stop!" he cried out violently, and noting the instant he had spoken the surprise on Count Otto's face.

"There, sir, I give you at once by my discourtesy an example of how little I merit a comparison with that courtly nobleman.

Let me repair it by telling you, since you are willing to hear, of my night's adventure." And as he ate he told his story, omitting the precise object of his journey, the nature of the letter which he had burned, and any name which might give a clue to the secret of his enterprise.
The Count Otto listened with his eyes as well as his ears; he hung upon the words, shuddering at each danger that sprang upon Wogan, exclaiming in wonder at the shift by which he escaped from it, and at times he looked over towards his books with a glance of veritable dislike.
"To feel the blood run hot in one's veins, to be bedfellows with peril, to go gallantly forward hand in hand with endeavour," he mused and broke off.

"See, I own a sword, being a gentleman.