Do you mark the honour I do you, swindler?” “I do,” said the innkeeper morosely, leaning forward over the bar. “I’m content to see you, minstrel, sir. I see that your word is indeed your bond. After all, you promised to stop by first thing to pay for yesterday’s exploits. And I—just imagine—presumed you were lying, as usual. I swear I am ashamed.” “There is no need to feel shame, my good man,” the troubadour said light-heartedly, “for I have no money.
