The father looked at Alois.
'Deign to recognise in this baron, Madame,' he said, 'my son the Count of Poictou.

Let him salute, Madame, that which he has sought from so far, and with such humility, pardieu; your white hand, Alois.' The strange girl quivered, then put her hand out.

Richard, kissing it, found it horribly cold.
'Lady,' he said, 'I pray we may be better acquainted; but I must tell you that I have no English.

Let me hope that in this good land you may recover your French.' He got no answer from the lady, but, by heaven, he made his father angry.
'We hope, Richard, that you will teach Madame better things than that,' sniffed the old man, nosing about for battle.
'I pray that I may teach her no worse, my lord,' replied the other.

'You will perhaps allow that for a daughter of France the tongue may have its uses.' 'As English, Count, for the son of England!' cried his father; 'or for his wife, by the mass, if he is fit to have one.' 'Of that, sire, we must talk at your Grace's leisure,' said Richard slowly.