brow,
Master Tibbald sat in a mortal fright. But by and by, his anger rising on
top of his fear, he began to curse and threaten and promise what vengeance
would fall on Ambialet when the Viscount had heard his story, to all of
which the boatmen answered only that the Viscount was known to be a just
lord, and would doubtless repay all as they deserved.

"And so the boat sped downstream past the woods, and was brought to shore
at last under a cliff, with dim houses above it, and here and there a
light shining. And this, of course, was Ambialet again; but the King of
Youth had given orders to clear the streets, close the inns, and
extinguish all flambeaux; so that as the guards marched Tibbald on the
cliffway to the chateau, never a suspicion had he that this sleeping town
was the same he had left in uproar.

"Now, the Viscount, who meanwhile had been posted in the affair, sat in
the great hall of the chateau, with a cup of wine beside him and, at his
elbow, a flagon. He was a great lord, who dearly loved a jest; and,
having given Master Tibbald audience, he listened to all his complaint,
keeping a grave face.

"'In truth,' said he, 'you have suffered scurvy treatment; yet what
affects me is the waste of this wine which you intended for Our Lady of
the Oder. As lord of Ambialet I am behoven to protect her offerings.'

"'But the stripes, monseigneur!' urged Tibbald. 'The stripes were given
me in her name. Listen, therefore, I pray you, to my suggestion: Let the
burg pay me fair compensation for my wine. So she will miss her offering;
her people will bleed in their purses; and I, being quits with both, will
leave Ambialet the way I came.'

"'You call that being quits, Master Tibbald?' said the Viscount, musing.
'Truly, you are not vindictive!'

"'A merchant, my lord, has a merchant's way of looking at such affairs,'
answered Tibbald.

"'So truly I perceive,' said the Viscount, 'and, in faith, it sounds
reasonable enough. But touching this compensation--my people are poor in
coin. Shall it be wine for wine, then, or do you insist upon money?'
And here he poured out a cupful from the flagon at his elbow and offered
it to the merchant, who drank and pulled a wry mouth, as well he might,
for it had been saved from the spillings of his own _tisane_.

"'The Viscount eyed him curiously. 'What! Master Tibbald? Is our native
wine so sour as all that?' He drained his own cup, which held a very
different liquor.