showed that he bore Maignan no good-will, and that but for my
presence he might not have been so complaisant. La Trape was
bringing his surgery to an end by demanding a fee, in the most
comical manner possible, when the King returned to our part of
the court. "What is it?" he said. "Is anything the matter?"

"No, sire," I said. "My man has cut his hand a little, but it is
nothing."

"Can he play?" Henry asked with his accustomed good-nature.

"Oh, yes, sire," I answered. "I have bound it up with a strip of
plaister from the case in your Majesty's closet."

"He has not lost blood?"

"No, sire."

And he had not. But it was small wonder that the King asked;
small wonder, for the man's face had changed in the last ten
seconds to a strange leaden colour; a terror like that of a wild
beast that sees itself trapped had leapt into his eyes. He shot
a furtive glance round him, and I saw him slide his hand behind
him. But I was prepared for that, and as the King moved off a
space I slipped to the man's side, as if to give him some
directions about his game.

"Listen," I said, in a voice heard only by him; "take the
dressing off your hand, and I have you broken on the wheel. You
understand? Now play."