"Bother! Your knees are bones!"
The bright sally on the part of the count redoubled the laughter and hilarity of the leudes.
"It is true I am only skin and bones," answered the old man seeking to soften his master's heart; "I am quite weak—please spare me the pain, my good seigneur."
"Listen—if you do not on the spot extinguish your torch between your knees, I shall have my men seize you and extinguish the torch in your throat—take your choice, quickly!"
A fresh explosion of hilarity proved to the old Gaul that he had no mercy to expect from the Franks. He looked down weeping upon his frail and tremulous legs, and yielding to one last ray of hope he addressed the clerk in suppliant accents:
"My good father in God—in the name of charity—do intercede in my behalf with my good seigneur count!"
"Seigneur, I ask grace for the poor old man."
"Clerk! Does the slave belong to me—yes or not? Am I his master—yes or not?"
"He belongs to you, noble seigneur."
"Can I dispose of my slave at my pleasure, and chastise him as I may choose?"