“Does your highness wish to take revenge for the game of tennis yesterday?”
Grimaud intimated by a scarcely perceptible nod that he should consent.
“Yes,” said the duke, “but take care, my dear La Ramee, for I propose to beat you badly.”
La Ramee went out. Grimaud looked after him, and when the door was closed he drew out of his pocket a pencil and a sheet of paper.
“Write, my lord,” he said.
“And what?”
Grimaud dictated.
“All is ready for to-morrow evening. Keep watch from seven to nine. Have two riding horses ready. We shall descend by the first window in the gallery.”
“What next?”
“Sign your name, my lord.”