“What, sir!” roared the King, snatching back his hand to grasp the dagger in his girdle. “Do you dare to turn upon your lord?”
“No, no, Sire,” cried Denis excitedly. “It was not his fault.”
“What do you mean, sir?” said the King angrily.
“You were pulling his ears so hard, Sire, and dragging his head to and fro.”
“Was I?” said the King.
“Yes, Sire. He bore it as long as he could.”
“Poor old Tonnerre!” said the King, clapping his hand upon the dog’s head again; and the dog whined with pleasure at the caress. “I was growing excited, I suppose. Well, never mind the hound. Now then, Leoni; we must have this ruby back?”
“Yes, Sire. I shall never rest till I see it safely in the ancient crown.”
“And I suppose I must say the same,” said the King. “But how is it to be done? There: speak. You have studied all this out, I suppose? How is it to be done?”
“By a trusty mission to England, Sire.”