"Is it true, sir," I asked, coming close to him, "that the King of France is yonder at Calais? So it's said."
"I believe it to be true," answered M. de Perrencourt.
"I wish he had come over," I cried. "I should love to see him, for they say he's a very proper man, although he's somewhat short."
M. de Perrencourt did not turn his head, but again I saw his cheek flush. To speak of his low stature was, I had heard Monmouth say, to commit the most dire offence in King Louis' eyes.
"Now, how tall is the King, sir?" I asked. "Is he tall as you, sir?"
M. de Perrencourt was still silent. To tell the truth, I began to be a little uneasy; there were cells under the Castle, and I had need to be at large for the coming few days.
"For," said I, "they tell such lies concerning princes."
Now he turned towards me, saying,
"There you're right, sir. The King of France, is of middle size, about my own height."
For the life of me I could not resist it. I said nothing with my tongue, but for a moment I allowed my eyes to say, "But then you're short, sir." He understood, and for the third time he flushed.