They rose, bowing, but I took a third chair between them and motioned them to be seated.
"We have not the wherewithal, sir," said one with a wistful smile.
"The thing is mended as soon as told," I cried, and, calling the host, I bade him bring three bottles. "A man is more at home with his own bottle," said I.
With the wine came new gaiety, and with gaiety a flow of speech. M. de Fontelles would have admired the fluency with which I discoursed with his servants, they telling me of travelling in their country, I describing the incidents of the road in England.
"There are rogues enough on the way in both countries, I'll warrant," I laughed. "But perhaps you carry nothing of great value and laugh at robbers?"
"Our spoil would make a robber a poor meal, sir; but our master is in a different plight."
"Ah! He carries treasure?"
"Not in money, sir," answered one. The other nudged him, as though to bid him hold his tongue.
"Come, fill your glasses," I cried, and they obeyed very readily.
"Well, men have met their death between here and London often enough before now," I pursued meditatively, twisting my glass of wine in my fingers. "But with you for his guard, M. de Fontelles should be safe enough."