Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

35
"'Twas well done of thee, Philibert," said he of the proof-armor, "to ride forth so far to
welcome thy cousin and companion in arms."
"Companion in battledore and shuttlecock, Romane de Clos-Vougeot!" replied the younger
Cavalier. "When I was yet a page, thou wert a belted knight; and thou wert away to the
Crusades ere ever my beard grew."
"I stood by Richard of England at the gates of Ascalon, and drew the spear from sainted
King Louis in the tents of Damietta," the individual addressed as Romane replied. "Well-aday!
since thy beard grew, boy, (and marry 'tis yet a thin one,) I have broken a lance with
Solyman at Rhodes, and smoked a chibouque with Saladin at Acre. But enough of this. Tell
me of home—of our native valley—of my hearth, and my lady-mother, and my good
chaplain—tell me of HER, Philibert," said the knight, executing a demivolt, in order to hide
his emotion.
Philibert seemed uneasy, and to strive as though he would parry the question. "The castle
stands on the rock," he said, "and the swallows still build in the battlements. The good
chaplain still chants his vespers at morn, and snuffles his matins at even-song. The ladymother
still distributeth tracts, and knitteth Berlin linsey-woolsey. The tenants pay no
better, and the lawyers dun as sorely, kinsman mine," he added with an arch look.
"But Fatima, Fatima, how fares she?" Romane continued. "Since Lammas was a
twelvemonth, I hear nought of her; my letters are unanswered. The postman hath traversed
our camp every day, and never brought me a billet. How is Fatima, Philibert de
Coquelicot?"
"She is—well," Philibert replied; "her sister Anne is the fairest of the twain, though."
"Her sister Anne was a baby when I embarked for Egypt. A plague on sister Anne! Speak
of Fatima, Philibert—my blue-eyed Fatima!"
"I say she is—well," answered his comrade gloomily.
"Is she dead? Is she ill? Hath she the measles? Nay, hath she had the small-pox, and lost her
beauty? Speak; speak, boy!" cried the knight, wrought to agony.
"Her cheek is as red as her mother's, though the old Countess paints hers every day. Her
foot is as light as a sparrow's, and her voice as sweet as a minstrel's dulcimer; but give me
nathless the Lady Anne," cried Philibert; "give me the peerless Lady Anne! As soon as ever
I have won spurs, I will ride all Christendom through, and proclaim her the Queen of
Beauty. Ho, Lady Anne! Lady Anne!" and so saying—but evidently wishing to disguise