as out of fashion as courtesy from guests, or respect for dignities from my-face-is-my-fortune minions and lords on carpet considerations.”

The hush of consternation following this audacious speech was broken by a roar of laughter from the favorite himself. “Zounds!” he cried, “your courage is worn on your sleeve, good giant! I’ll uphold you to face Spaniards, strappado, rack, galleys, and all!”

The bravado with which he spoke, the insolence of his bold glance and curled lip, the arrogance with which he flaunted that King’s favor which should be a brand more infamous than the hangman’s, his beauty, the pomp of his dress, — all were alike hateful. I hated him then, scarce knowing why, as I hated him afterward with reason.