"Silence, railer!" he said in a broken voice. "Sow no
more troubles! Already," a shudder shook his tall ungainly form, "I see
blood, blood, blood everywhere! Blood? Ah, God, shall I from this time
see anything else? But there is no turning back. There is no undoing.
So, do you go to Biron. And do you," he went on, sullenly addressing
Marshal Tavannes, "take him and tell him what it is needful he should
know."
"'Tis done, sire!" the Marshal cried, with a hiccough. "Come, brother!"
But when the two, the courtiers making quick way for them, had passed
down the hall to the door, the Marshal tapped Hannibal's sleeve.
"It was touch and go," he muttered; it was plain he had been more sober
than he seemed. "Mind you, it does not do to thwart our little master in
his fits! Remember that another time, or worse will come of it, brother.
As it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that black devil's heels
to a marvel! But you won't be so mad as to go to Biron?"
"Yes," Count Hannibal answered coldly. "I shall go."
"Better not! Better not!" the Marshal answered. "'Twill be easier to go
in than to come out--with a whole throat! Have you taken wild cats in
the hollow of a tree? The young first, and then the she-cat? Well, it
will be that! Take my advice, brother.
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