A Monk of Fife by Andrew Lang
page 95 of 341 (27%)
page 95 of 341 (27%)
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After this friendly bout at point and edge, Robin and Randal Rutherford,
being off duty, must needs carry me to the Tennis Court, where Tremouille and the King were playing two young lords, and that for such a stake as would have helped to arm a hundred men for the aid of Orleans. It was pretty to see the ball fly about basted from the walls, and the players bounding and striking; and, little as I understood the game, so eager was I over the sport, that a gentleman within the "dedans" touched me twice on the shoulder before I was aware of him. "I would have a word with you, sir, if your grace can spare me the leisure." "May it not be spoken here?" I asked, for I was sorry to lose the spectacle of the tennis, which was new to me, and is a pastime wherein France beats the world. Pity it is that many players should so curse and blaspheme God and His saints! "My business," replied the stranger, "is of a kind that will hardly endure waiting." With that I rose and followed him out into the open courtyard, much marvelling what might be toward. "You are that young gentleman," said my man, "for a gentleman I take you to be, from your aspect and common report, who yesterday were the death of Gilles de Puiseux?" "Sir, to my sorrow, and not by my will, I am he, and but now I was going forth to have certain masses said for his soul's welfare": which was true, Randal Rutherford having filled my purse against pay-day. |
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