I bade the innkeeper to take a seat at the fire, and soon we fell to
chatting like ladies' maids. He was a Norman and curious as a cat. He
opened his inquiries delicately.
"You have ridden far and fast to-day, my sir. Your horses were all but
done for. Yet there is no cloud of war in the sky and you are too far
from Paris to be honourable envoys. I hope you like our country?"
I dodged his tentative attempt at prying by asking him a question
myself.
"You don't seem to have many guests, good host? Yet do I hardly wonder
at it. You are all but swallowed up in the green and too far from the
main travelled road."
The little man sighed and said in sad accents: "Too true, yet the
Scarlet Dragon was once a thriving place, a fine money-breeding house.
Before my son went away--"
I interrupted him. "Your son, what is he, and where is he now?"
The other became visibly agitated and puffed at his pipe some minutes
before replying.
"Alas! worthy sir," he said at last in a lower key, "my son dare not
return here for reasons I cannot divulge.
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