“Let him come up!” Tavannes answered, grave and frowning. “And see you, close the room, sirrah! My people will wait on us. Ah!” as the Provost, a burly man, with a face framed for jollity, but now pale and long, entered and approached him with many salutations. “How comes it, M. le Prévôt—you are the Prévôt, are you not?”
“Yes, M. le Comte.”
“How comes it that so great a crowd is permitted to meet in the streets? And that at my entrance, though I come unannounced, I find half of the city gathered together?”
The Provost stared. “Respect, M. le Comte,” he said, “for His Majesty’s letters, of which you are the bearer, no doubt induced some to come together.”
“Who said I brought letters?”
“Who?”
“Who said I brought letters?” Count Hannibal repeated in a strenuous voice. And he ground his chair half about and faced the astonished magistrate. “Who said I brought letters?”
“Why, my lord,” the Provost stammered, “it was everywhere yesterday”
“Yesterday?”
“Last night, at latest—that letters were coming from the King.”
“By my hand?”
“By your lordship’s hand—whose name is so well known here,” the magistrate added, in the hope of clearing the great man’s brow.
Count Hannibal laughed darkly. “My hand will be better known by-and-by,” he said. “See you, sirrah, there is some practice here. What is this cry of Montsoreau that I hear?”
“Your lordship knows that he is His Grace’s lieutenant-governor in Saumur.”
