“And the father?”
“The father is in Palestine. That is the place where we always send the people we don’t know what to do with.”
“That will do very well; but if there are to be assassins, a haughty Castilian uncle, and a faithful waiting-woman, Stentarello must belong to a noble family.”
“The devil! yes; how shall we arrange that?”
“It is perfectly easy. The child whom we lower from the window is the young Alonzo, son of the duchess. Stentarello is the son of his grace’s pastry-cook.”
“But what is the pastry-cook to do?”
“I don’t know. It’s your business to find that out. If you keep on painting you won’t help me at all.”
“But only see, M. Goefle, how beautifully my sky is coming out!”
“Too much so; it is too prominent.”
“You are right, so it is! What an eye you have, M. Goefle! I must bring up the color of my donjon, then, a little.”