Межзвёздный скиталец
Chapter 11
Iknewthewindlestraw,GuydeVillehardouin,arawyoungprovincial,comeupthefirsttimetoCourt,butafierylittlecockerelforallofthat.Hewasred-haired.Hisblueeyes,smallandpinchedclosetoether,werelikewisered,atleastinthewhitesofthem;andhisskin,ofthesortthatgoeswithsuchtypes,wasredandfreckled.Hehadquiteaparboiledappearance.
AsIpassedhimbyasuddenmovementhejostledme.Oh,ofcourse,thethingwasdeliberate.Andheflamedatmewhilehishanddroppedtohisrapier.
“Faith,”thoughtI,“thegrayoldmanhasmanyandstrangetools,”whiletothecockerelIbowedandmurmured,“Yourpardonformyclumsiness.Thefaultwasmine.Yourpardon,Villehardouin.”
Buthewasnottobeappeasedthuseasily.AndwhilehefumedandstruttedIglimpsedRobertLanfranc,beckonedhimtous,andexplainedthehappening.
“Sainte-Maurehasaccordedyousatisfaction,”washisjudgment.“Hehasprayedyourpardon.”
“Intruth,yes,”Iinterruptedinmysuavesttones.“AndIprayyourpardonagain,Villehardouin,formyverygreatclumsiness.Iprayyourpardonathousandtimes.Thefaultwasmine,thoughunintentioned.InmyhastetoanengagementIwasclumsy,mostwofulclumsy,butwithoutintention.
