turned half round and faced Gilbert, planting himself with his sturdy
legs apart and crossing his arms, which were bare to the elbow; for he
had taken off his cloth tunic, and his embroidered shirt, girdled at
the waist by a leathern belt, hung over his scarlet hose, and was wide
at the neck and turned back above his elbows. He was hatless, ruddy,
and hot.

"Will you answer a fair question fairly, Master Gilbert?" he asked,
looking his friend in the eyes.

Gilbert had fallen into the habit of treating him like a man, as most
people did, excepting the Queen, and gravely nodded an answer.

"Do you not think that the Queen of France is the most beautiful woman
in the world?"

"Yes," answered Gilbert, without a smile, and without the slightest
hesitation.

The boy's eyes, that were so near together, gleamed and fixed
themselves in rising anger, while a dark red flush mounted from his
bare throat to his cheeks, and from his cheeks to his forehead.

"Then you love her?" he asked fiercely, and the words were thick on his
lips.

Gilbert was not easily surprised, but the conclusion was so sudden and
unexpected that he stared for a moment in blank amazement before he
smiled.