tone, just as he had been amazed to see the fellow keep his
countenance at the narrative of mademoiselle's position. "I guessed
that my beautiful stepmother intended me some such scurviness from
the circumstance of her having kept me in ignorance of my father's
death. But frankly, sir, your tale by far outstrips my wildest
imaginings. You have behaved very - very bravely in this affair.
You seem, in fact, to have taken a greater interest in Mademoiselle
de La Vauvraye's enlargement than the Queen could have a right to
expect of you." And he smiled, a world of suggestion in his eyes.
Garnache sat back in his chair and stared at the man.

"This levity, monsieur, on such a subject, leaves me thunderstruck,"
he said at last.

"Diable!" laughed the other. "You are too prone, after your trials;
to view its tragic rather than its comic side. Forgive me if I am
smitten only with the humour of the thing."

"The humour of the thing!" gurgled Garnache, his eyes starting from
his head. Then out leapt that temper of his like an eager hound
that has been suddenly unleashed. He brought down his clenched
hand upon the table, caught in passing a flagon, and sent it
crashing to the floor. If there was a table near at hand when his
temper went, he never failed to treat it so.

"Par la mort Dieu! monsieur, you see but the humour of it, do you?
And what of that poor child who is lying there, suffering this
incarceration because of her fidelity to a promise given you?"

The statement was hardly fully accurate. But it served its purpose.