But of my mother I have spoken in the beginning of this history.
When supper was ended, and all things made orderly, I had no great mind for my bed, having slept my fill for that time.

But the maid Elliot left us early, which was as if the light had been taken out of the room.
Beside the fire, my master fell to devising about the state of the country, as burgesses love to do.

And I said that, if I were the Dauphin, Chinon Castle should not hold me long, for my "spur would be in my horse's side, and the bridle on his mane," {9} as the old song of the Battle of Harlaw runs, and I on the way to Orleans.

Thereto he answered, that he well wished it were so, and, mocking, wished that I were the Dauphin.
"Not that our Dauphin is a coward, the blood of Saint Louis has not fallen so low, but he is wholly under the Sieur de La Tremouille, who was thrust on him while he was young, and still is his master, or, as we say, his governor.

Now, this lord is one that would fain run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, and this side of him is Burgundian and that is Armagnac, and on which of the sides his heart is, none knows.