"Truly. They gagged him because he protested so much, and lugged him off."
"To the Bastille?" he demanded, as if he could scarcely realize the event.
"To the Bastille. In a big travelling-coach, between the officer and his men. He may be there by this time."
He looked at me as if he were still not quite able to believe the thing.
"It is true, monsieur. If I were inventing it I could not invent anything better; but it is true."
"Certes, you could not invent anything better! Nor anything half so good. If ever there was a case of the biter bit—" he broke off, laughing.
"Monsieur, you know not half how funny it was. Had you seen their faces—the more Lucas swore he was not Comte de Mar, the more the officer was sure he was."
"Félix, you have all the luck. I said this morning you should go about no more without me. Then I send you off on a stupid errand, and see what you get into!"
"Monsieur, I put it to you: Had you been there, how could Lucas have been arrested for Comte de Mar?"
"He won't stay arrested long—more's the pity."