"A treatise on the authenticity of St. Thomas's little finger! But
what ails you? you are disturbed!"

"Odo, Odo, this man baffles me--this man fools me; I make no ground
with him. I have spent--heaven knows what I have spent," said the
Duke, sighing with penitent parsimony, "in banquets, and ceremonies,
and processions; to say nothing of my bel maneir of Yonne, and the sum
wrung from my coffers by that greedy Ponthevin. All gone--all wasted
--all melted like snow! and the Saxon is as Saxon as if he had seen
neither Norman splendour, nor been released from the danger by Norman
treasure. But, by the splendour Divine, I were fool indeed if I
suffered him to return home. Would thou hadst seen the sorcerer
cleave my helmet and mail just now, as easily as if they had been
willow twigs. Oh, Odo, Odo, my soul is troubled, and St. Michael
forsakes me!"

While William ran on thus distractedly, the prelate lifted his eyes
inquiringly to De Graville, who now stood within the tent, and the
knight briefly related the recent trial of strength.

"I see nought in this to chafe thee," said Odo; "the man once thine,
the stronger the vassal, the more powerful the lord."

"But he is not mine; I have sounded him as far as I dare go. Matilda
hath almost openly offered him my fairest child as his wife. Nothing
dazzles, nothing moves him. Thinkest thou I care for his strong arm?
Tut, no: I chafe at the proud heart that set the arm in motion; the
proud meaning his words symbolled out, 'So will English strength guard
English land from the Norman--so axe and shield will defy your mail