XXIV. OF THE PASSING OF ST. AUBAN

XXV. PLAY-ACTING

XXVI. REPARATION




CHAPTER I

OF HOW A BOY DRANK TOO MUCH WINE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT


Andrea de Mancini sprawled, ingloriously drunk, upon the floor. His legs
were thrust under the table, and his head rested against the chair from
which he had slipped; his long black hair was tossed and dishevelled; his
handsome, boyish face flushed and garbed in the vacant expression of
idiocy.

"I beg a thousand pardons, M. de Luynes," quoth he in the thick, monotonous
voice of a man whose brain but ill controls his tongue,--"I beg a thousand
pardons for the unseemly poverty of our repast. 'T is no fault of mine.
My Lord Cardinal keeps a most unworthy table for me. Faugh! Uncle Giulio
is a Hebrew--if not by birth, by instinct. He carries his purse-strings in
a knot which it would break his heart to unfasten. But there! some day my
Lord Cardinal will go to heaven--to the lap of Abraham. I shall be rich
then, vastly rich, and I shall bid you to a banquet worthy of your most
noble blood. The Cardinal's health--perdition have him for the
niggardliest rogue unhung!"