It was in mid-hall in the Bishop's palace, one day after dinner, that he met and stopped the Count of Saint-Pol.
'What now, beau sire ?' says the Count, out of breath.

Richard's eyes were alight.

'This,' says he, 'that you lie in your throat.' Count Eudo looked about him, and everywhere saw the faces of men risen from the board intent on him.

'Strange words, beau sire,' says he, very white.

Richard raised his voice till the metal rang in it.
'But not strange doing, I think, on your part.