we are
great. 'Twould be hard if we failed at these arts, since they are about
all we do know."

"You do not quite take me, dame," said Gerard. "That honesty in a face
should shine forth to your experienced eye, that seems reasonable: but
how by looking on Denys here could you learn his one little foible, his
insanity, his miserable mulierosity?" Poor Gerard got angrier the more
he thought of it.

"His mule--his what?" (crossing herself with superstitious awe at the
polysyllable).

"Nay, 'tis but the word I was fain to invent for him."

"Invent? What, can a child like you make other words than grow in
Burgundy by nature? Take heed what ye do! why, we are overrun with them
already, especially bad ones. Lord, these be times. I look to hear of a
new thistle invented next."

"Well then, dame, mulierose--that means wrapped up, body and soul,
in women. So prithee tell me; how did you ever detect the noodle's
mulierosity?"

"Alas! good youth, you make a mountain of a molehill. We that are women
be notice-takers; and out of the tail of our eye see more than most men
can, glaring through a prospect glass. Whiles I move to and fro doing
this and that, my glance is still on my guests, and I did notice that
this soldier's eyes were never off the womenfolk: my daughter, or
Marion, or even an old woman like me, all was gold to him: and there a
sat glowering; oh, you foolish, foolish man! Now you still turned to the
speaker, her or him, and that is common sense."

Denys burst into a hoarse laugh. "You never were more out. Why, this
silky, smooth-faced companion is a very Turk--all but his beard. He is
what d'ye call 'em oser than ere an archer in the Duke's body-guard. He
is more wrapped up in one single Dutch lass called Margaret, than I am
in the whole bundle of ye, brown and fair."

"Man alive, that is just the contrary," said the hostess. "Yourn is the
bane, and hisn the cure. Cling you still to Margaret, my dear. I hope
she is an honest girl."

"Dame, she is an angel."

"Ay, ay, they are all that till better acquainted. I'd as lieve have her
no more than honest, and then she will serve to keep you out of worse
company. As for you, soldier, there is trouble in store for you. Your
eyes were never made for the good of your soul."

"Nor of his pouch either," said Marion, striking in, "and his lips, they
will sip the dew, as he calls it, off many a bramble bush."

"Overmuch clack! Marion overmuch clack."

"Ods bodiki