“Dear M. Aurilly,” said D’Epernon, still arranging his mustachois, “how are you?”
“Be so kind as to bring me here your little dagger,” said Maugiron.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, do you not remember where you are?”
“Yes, yes, my dear Orpheus, that is why I ask for your dagger; you see M. le Duc has none.”
“Aurilly!” cried the duke, in a tone full of grief and rage, “do you not see that I am a prisoner?”
“A prisoner! to whom?”
“To my brother; you might know that by my jailers.”
“Oh! if I had but guessed it.”
“You would have brought your lute to amuse his highness,” said a mocking voice behind them, “but I thought of it, and sent for it; here it is.”
“How does your chess go on, Chicot?” said D’Epernon.