"Let one go to fetch Melot," he said softly.
No one stirred.
"Let one go to fetch Melot."
No motion, no breath.
"Ah," said he as if to himself, and laid hand to pommel. The heap shuddered and turned on itself. It swarmed. Finally, like a drop from a sponge, Master Porges exuded and stood out, a sweating monument.
"Seneschal," said Prosper, with a bow, "I am for the moment about to ask a favour of you. Have the goodness to oblige me." He unbolted the door and held it open for the man.
Master Porges gasped, looked once to heaven, thought to pray.
"In manus teas, Domine!" he sighed.
"Exactly," said Prosper, and kicked him out. The breathless audience was resumed.
A timid knocking—a mere flutter—at the door ushered in as tip-toe a couple as you might easily see. Master Porges fell to his knees and prayers; Melot was too far gone for that. She simply did everything she was told.