"Give you the letter, my lord? But, pardon me, you're not the Constable." He laughed a little.
"Why, no," said I, mustering a smile. "It's true that I'm not the Constable, but I'm going to the Constable. I had the King's orders to rejoin him as soon as I had seen the Queen; and since Her Majesty isn't here, I shall return to the lodge directly a fresh horse can be saddled for me. And the Constable's at the lodge. Come, the letter!"
"I can't give it you, my lord. Her Majesty's orders were positive."
"Nonsense. If she had known I should come and not the Constable, she would have told me to carry it to him."
"I don't know about that, my lord: her orders were plain, and she doesn't like being disobeyed."
The stableman had led the horse away, the footman had disappeared, Hermann and I were alone.
"Give me the letter," I said; and I know that my self-control failed, and eagerness was plain in my voice. Plain it was, and Hermann took alarm. He started back, clapping his hand to the breast of his laced coat. The gesture betrayed where the letter was: I was past prudence; I sprang on him and wrenched his hand away, catching him by the throat with my other hand. Diving into his pocket, I got the letter. Then I
