Great was
his wrath, therefore, when, less than a minute later--and before Bigot
had carved for him--the door opened, and the Provost appeared again. He
slid in, and without giving the courage he had gained on the stairs time
to cool, plunged into his trouble.
"It stands this way, M. le Comte," he bleated. "If I put up the gibbets
and a man is hanged, and you have letters from the King, 'tis a rogue the
less, and no harm done. But if you have no letters from His Majesty,
then it is on my shoulders they will put it, and 'twill be odd if they do
not find a way to hang me to right him."
Count Hannibal smiled grimly. "And your sister's son?" he sneered. "And
your girl who is white-faced for his sake, and may burn on the same
bonfire with him? And--"
"Mercy! Mercy!" the wretched Provost cried. And he wrung his hands.
"Lescot and Thuriot--"
"Perhaps we may hang Lescot and Thuriot--"
"But I see no way out," the Provost babbled. "No way! No way!"
"I am going to show you one," Tavannes retorted. "If the gibbets are not
in place by sunrise, I shall hang you from this window. That is one way
out; and you'll be wise to take the other! For the rest and for your
comfort, if I have no letters, it is not always to paper that the King
commits his inmost heart.
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