“Where are the originals?” inquired de Lumey.
“My master has them,” said the messenger.
“And the churl sends me the copy!” said de Lumey. “Where is your passport?”
“Here, my Lord,” said the messenger.
Then Messire de Lumey began to read it aloud:
“My Lord and Master Marin Brandt commands all ministers, governors, and officers of the Republic that they should allow to pass....” etc.
De Lumey struck the table with his fist, and tore the passport in two.
“Sang de Dieu!” he cried. “What is he doing meddling here, this Marin? This trumpery fellow who before the taking of La Brièle had not so much as the bone of a smoked herring to place between his teeth! He calls himself ‘My Lord’ forsooth, and ‘Master,’ and sends to me his ‘orders’! He commands and orders! You may tell your master that since he is so much of a Captain and so much of a My Lord, ordering and commanding so excellently well, the monks shall be hanged forthwith, and you with them if you don’t get out at once.”
And he gave the man a great kick and had him removed from the room.
“Bring me to drink,” he cried. “Have you ever seen anything to compare with the effrontery of this Marin? I could spit my food out, so angry I am. Let the monks be hanged immediately, and let the wandering Fleming be brought hither to me as soon as he has witnessed the execution. We will see if he still dares to tell me that I have done wrong. Blood of God! What are these pots and glasses doing here?”