Marthe's, cool and articulate, did not alter at all. 'My name is Marthe.' 'What is your other name?' 'The name of my father.' 'And who is your father?' The slender, strongly made shoulders sketched a shrug. 'Who knows? He had no ship and no money; or if he had, he found better employment for both than in looking for me. Like your son, I am a bastard.' 'No, my dear,' said Lymond. 'Forgive me.... But I think you are a bastard like nobody else.