It is unusual, Your Majesty, to apprehend a gentleman so that he may
show cause why he did not deserve such apprehension. The more usual
course is to arrest him because there are proofs of his guilt to be
preferred against him."
Louis combed his beard pensively, and his melancholy eyes grew
thoughtful.
"A nice point, Marcel," said he, and he yawned. "A nice point. You
should have been a lawyer." Then, with an abrupt change of manner,
"Do you give me your word of honour that he is innocent?" he asked
sharply.
"If Your Majesty's judges offer proof of his guilt, I give you my
word that I will tear that proof to pieces."
"That is not an answer. Do you swear his innocence?"
"Do I know what he carries in his conscience?" quoth I still fencing
with the question. "How can I give my word in such a matter? Ah,
Sire, it is not for nothing that they call you Louis the Just," I
pursued, adopting cajolery and presenting him with his own favourite
phrase. "You will never allow a man against whom there is no shred
of evidence to be confined in prison."
"Is there not?" he questioned. Yet his tone grew gentler. History,
he had promised himself, should know him as Louis the Just, and he
would do naught that might jeopardize his claim to that proud title.
"There is the evidence of this Saint-Eustache!"
"Would Your Majesty hang a dog upon the word of that double traitor?"
"Hum! You are a great advocate, Marcel. You avoid answering
questions; you turn questions aside by counter-questions.
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