I dropped on my knee and kissed my saviour's hand in
all gratitude.
"Aha," said Yeux-gris, "what think you now of being my valet?"
Verily, I was hard pushed.
"Monsieur," I said, "I owe you much more than I can ever pay. If you
were any man's enemy but my duke's, I would serve you on my knees. But I
was born on the duke's land and I cannot be disloyal. You may kill me
yourself, if you like."
"No," he answered gravely, "that is not my metier."
Gervais laughed.
"Make me that offer, and I accept."
Yeux-gris turned to him with that little hauteur he assumed
occasionally.
"You are helpless, my cousin. You have passed your word."
"Aye. I leave him to you."
His sullen eyes told me it was no new-born tenderness for me that
prompted his surrender. Nor had I, truth to tell, any great faith in the
sacredness of his word. Yet I believed he would let me be. For it was
borne in upon me that, despite his passion and temper, he had no wish to
quarrel with Yeux-gris. Whether at bottom he loved him or in some way
dreaded him, I could not tell; but of this my fear-sharpened wits were
sure: he had no desire to press an open breach. He was honestly ashamed
of his henchman's low deed; yet even before that his judgment had
disliked the quarrel. Else why had he struck me with the hilt of the
sword?
"I leave him to you," he repeated.
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