"Wait a moment. What are you doing?"
"I am going to blow out the torch—as you ordered me—"
"Oh, I did not mean it in that way."
And ever caressing his moustache, Neroweg cast ironical and cruel glances at his leudes.
"Seigneur, how will you have me extinguish my torch?"
"I wish you to put it out between your knees."
The Frankish leudes received the comical idea of the count with loud applause and wild yells and laughter. The old Gaul trembled from head to foot, looked imploringly at Neroweg, lowered his head and murmured:
"Seigneur, my knees are bare, the torch will burn me—"
"Ho! You old brute! Do you imagine I would order you to extinguish the torch between your knees if they were covered with oxhide or jambards of iron?"
"Seigneur, good seigneur, it will smart me terribly; for pity's sake, do not impose such a torment upon me."