On my soul, he flushed! I tell my children sometimes how I made him flush; the thing was not done often.

Yet his confusion was but momentary, and suddenly, I know not how, I in my turn became abashed with the cold stare of his eyes, and when he asked me my name, I answered baldly, with never a bow and never a flourish, "Simon Dale." "I have heard your name," said he gravely.

Then he turned round and began looking at the sea again.
Now, had he been wearing his own clothes (if I may so say) this conduct would have been appropriate enough; it would have been a dismissal and I should have passed on my way.

But a man should be consistent in his disguises, and from M.de Perrencourt, gentleman-in-waiting, the behaviour was mighty uncivil.

Yet my revenge must be indirect.
"Is it true, sir," I asked, coming close to him, "that the King of France is yonder at Calais?
So it's said." "I believe it to be true," answered M.de Perrencourt.
"I wish he had come over," I cried.