"The King shall hear of this, you knave! By God, he shall!"
They dragged me from him at last - those lapdogs that attended him
--and with much rough handling they sent me sprawling among the
sawdust on the floor. It is more than likely that but for
Castelroux's intervention they had made short work of me there and
then.
But with a bunch of Mordieus, Sangdieus, and Po' Cap de Dieus, the
little Gascon flung himself before my prostrate figure, and bade
them in the King's name, and at their peril, to stand back.
Chatellerault, sorely shaken, his face purple, and with blood
streaming from his nostrils, had sunk into a chair. He rose now,
and his first words were incoherent, raging gasps.
"What is your name, sir?" he bellowed at last, addressing the
Captain.
"Amedee de Mironsac de Castelroux, of Chateau Rouge in Gascony,"
answered my captor, with a grand manner and a flourish, and added,
"Your servant."
"What authority have you to allow your prisoners this degree of
freedom?"
"I do not need authority, monsieur," replied the Gascon.
"Do you not?" blazed the Count. "We shall see. Wait until I am in
Toulouse, my malapert friend."
Castelroux drew himself up, straight as a rapier, his face slightly
flushed and his glance angry, yet he had the presence of mind to
restrain himself, partly at least.
"I have my orders from the Keeper of the Seals, to effect the
apprehension of Monsieur de Lesperon; and to deliver him up, alive
or dead, at Toulouse.
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