"Though,
after all, they appear to have had a very keen nose for a traitor.
Come, Bardelys, confess yourself that."
"I? A traitor?"
He shrugged his shoulders, and laughed without any conspicuous mirth.
"Is not a traitor one who runs counter to the wishes; of his King?
And are you not, therefore, a traitor, whether they call you Lesperon
or Bardelys? But there," he ended more softly still, and flinging
himself into a chair as he spoke, "I have been so wearied since you
left me, Marcel. They have the best intentions in the world, these
dullards, and some of them love me even; but they are tiresome all.
Even Chatellerault, when he has a fancy for a jest - as in your case
perpetrates it with the grace of a bear, the sprightliness of an
elephant."
"Jest?" said I.
"You find it no jest, Marcel? Pardieu, who shall blame you? He
would be a man of unhealthy humour that could relish such a
pleasantry as that of being sentenced to death. But tell me of it.
The whole story, Marcel. I have not heard a story worth the
listening to since - since you left us."
"Would it please you, Sire, to send for the Comte de Chatellerault
ere I begin?" I asked.
"Chatellerault? No, no." He shook his head whimsically.
"Chatellerault has had his laugh already, and, like the ill-mannered
dog he is, he has kept it to himself. I think, Marcel, that it is
our turn now. I have purposely sent Chatellerault away that he may
gain no notion of the catastrophic jest we are preparing him in
return.
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