Here has your Highness got yourself unhorsed by a wild Scottish boy." "Tut, tut!" said Lord Crawford, "never shame his Highness for that.

It is not the first time a Scottish boy hath broke a good lance--I am glad the youth hath borne him well." "I will say nothing to the contrary," said Dunois, "yet, had your Lordship come something later than you did, there might have been a vacancy in your band of Archers." "Ay, ay," answered Lord Crawford, "I can read your handwriting in that cleft morion.

Some one take it from the lad and give him a bonnet, which, with its steel lining, will keep his head better than that broken loom--And let me tell your Lordship, that your own armour of proof is not without some marks of good Scottish handwriting.

But, Dunois, I must now request the Duke of Orleans and you to take horse and accompany me, as I have power and commission to convey you to a place different from that which my goodwill might assign you." "May I not speak one word, my Lord of Crawford, to yonder fair ladies ?" said the Duke of Orleans.
"Not one syllable," answered Lord Crawford, "I am too much a friend of your Highness to permit such an act of folly." Then addressing Quentin, he added, "You, young man, have done your duty.
Go on to obey the charge with which you are intrusted." "Under favour, my Lord," said Tristan, with his usual brutality of manner, "the youth must find another guide.

I cannot do without Petit Andre, when there is so like to be business on hand for him." "The young man," said Petit Andre, now coming forward, "has only to keep the path which lies straight before him, and it will conduct him to a place where he will find the man who is to act as his guide.
"I would not for a thousand ducats be absent from my Chief this day I have hanged knights and esquires many a one, and wealthy Echevins [during the Middle Ages royal officers possessing a large measure of power in local administration], and burgomasters to boot--even counts and marquises have tasted of my handiwork but, a-humph"-- he looked at the Duke, as if to intimate that he would have filled up the blank with "a Prince of the Blood!" "Ho, ho, ho! Petit Andre, thou wilt be read of in Chronicle!" "Do you permit your ruffians to hold such language in such a presence ?" said Crawford, looking sternly to Tristan.
"Why do you not correct him yourself, my Lord ?" said Tristan, sullenly.
"Because thy hand is the only one in this company that can beat him without being degraded by such an action." "Then rule your own men, my Lord, and I will be answerable for mine," said the Provost Marshal.
Lord Crawford seemed about to give a passionate reply, but as if he had thought better of it, turned his back short upon Tristan, and, requesting the Duke of Orleans and Dunois to ride one on either hand of him, he made a signal of adieu to the ladies, and said to Quentin, "God bless thee, my child, thou hast begun thy service valiantly, though in an unhappy cause." He was about to go off when Quentin could hear Dunois whisper to Crawford, "Do you carry us to Plessis ?" "No, my unhappy and rash friend," answered Crawford, with a sigh, "to Loches." "To Loches!" The name of a castle, or rather prison, yet more dreaded than Plessis itself, fell like a death toll upon the ear of the young Scotchman.