“I am very sorry, my lord and gentlemen,” she cried, “and angry too”—a fact which was plainly enough marked in her countenance. “But this is a public inn, and some insolent idler, moved by curiosity, has dared to watch. I never imagined anyone would venture; and now I beg you will resume your meal.”
“But there is the paper,” said the King.
“Yes, yes,” she said, “the paper. I do not understand.”
“Ah, well,” said the King, “we will not spoil our dinner; but I do not like to have hungry dogs watching while I make my meal. Sit down, gentlemen, and let us finish.”
Setting the example, he recommenced, but thrust the half-finished bowl away with an impatient “Bah! The soup is cold. Here, hostess! Call those women back. And I want some wine. What have you in the house?”
“Some of the best vintages of France, my lord,” said the woman eagerly, and drawing a deep breath of relief in the feeling that the trouble was at an end, though there was a twitching now and then at the corners of her eyes suggesting that she was not quite at ease.
The fresh dishes were placed upon the table as soon as the soup was removed, and soon after the hostess herself bore in a couple of rush-covered flasks of wine.
“Burgundy—Malvoisey,” she said, indicating each in turn.
“The Burgundy,” said the King, and as the glasses were filled, and they were once more quite alone, he made as if to tear up the paper, but altering his mind folded it quickly, and thrust it in the pouch he carried at his belt.
“Come, gentlemen,” he said: “that scrap of paper shall not spoil a pleasant meal. It is a mere molehill in our path. Here’s success to our expedition.—Hah! better vine than my own.”