This put Montferrat, who was standing, sadly out of countenance, for he considered himself (as perhaps he was) the superior of any man uncrowned.
It seems that some news had drifted in on the west wind.

'Richard, oh, Richard!' the King began, half whimsical and half vexed, 'What have you been doing in Touraine ?' 'Fair sire,' answered Richard, 'I have been doing what will, I fear, give pain to our cousin Montferrat.

I have been breaking the back of the Count of Saint-Pol.' At this the Marquess, suffused with dark blood till he was colour of lead, broke out, pointing his finger as well as his words.

As the bilge-water jets from a ketch when the hold is surcharged, so did the Marquess jet his expletives.
'Ha, sire! Ha, King of France! Now give me leave to break this brigand's back, who robs and reviles in one breath.

Touch of the Gospel, is it to be borne ?' Foaming with rage, he lunged forward a step or two, his hand upon his long sword.