Victor-Amadeus stared a little; then spoke drily.
“You may misconceive our prerogatives, Monsieur. Or, perhaps, you are married already?”
“No, Sire.”
“It is well, then. We have commanded the lady and her father to Court—a little prematurely, maybe; but, what would you!” (he shrugged his shoulders). “A loveless marriage makes a short mourning. In the meantime—”
“I will be your Prefect, Sire—if not for vengeance’ sake, for duty alone.”
“You do not believe he was murdered?”
“The suggestion shall at least stimulate me.”
“And nothing else? But we will see. A stake in that country would afford you a strong personal interest in its cleansing. We will see, we will see.” He turned to his secretary. “Make out M. Trix’s patent as Prefect of Faissigny, my dear Polisson,” he said; “and, for heaven’s sake, straighten your stock.”
CHAPTER VI
Within a stone’s throw of the royal Palace, under its usurious eye, as it were, stood the Palazzo di Citta, the headquarters of the Banco del Regio Lotto. There, every alternate Saturday at noon, the drawing of the numbers took place, and the impoverishment of a few thousand King’s subjects, guilty of nothing but fatuity, was decided by lot.