"Wait for me," she called up the gloom, and shook her fist at the unseen soldier because he gave her no reply. Klussman stepped out on the turret floor and set down his load. Stretching himself from the cramp of the stairway, he stood looking over bay and forest and coast. The battlemented wall was quite as high as his shoulder. One small cannon, brought up with enormous labor, was here trained through an embrasure to command the mouth of the river.
Le Rossignol emerged into the unroofed light and the sea air like a potentate, dragging a warm furred robe. She had fastened great hoops of gold in her ears, and they gave her peaked face a barbaric look. It was her policy to go in state to punishment. The little sovereign stalked with long steps and threw out her arm in command.
"Monsieur the Swiss, stoop over and give me thy back until I mount the battlement."
Klussman, full of his own bitter and confused thinking, looked blankly down at her heated countenance.
"Give me thy back!" sang the dwarf in the melodious scream which anger never made harsh in her.
"Faith, yes, and my entire carcass," muttered the Swiss. "I care not what becomes of me now."
"Madame Marie sent you to escort me to this turret. You have the honor because you are an officer. Now do your duty as lieutenant of this fortress, and make me a comfortable prisoner."
Klussman set his hands upon his sides and smiled down upon his prisoner.
"What is your will?"
"Twice have I told you to stoop and give me your back, that I may mount from the cannon to the battlements. Am I to be shut up here without an outlook?"