“God be aboot us! Coont, ye near gied me a stroke there.”
“Oh, I demand pardon!” said Count Victor ironically. “I forgot that a man of your age should not be taken by surprise.”
“My age!” repeated Mungo, with a tone of annoyance. “No' sae awfu' auld either. At my age my grandfaither was a sergeant i' the airmy, and married for the fourth time.”
“Only half his valour seems to run in the blood,” said Count Victor. Then, more sternly, “What did you mean by locking me up there?”
Mungo took up the kettle and placed it to the front of him, with some intuition that a shield must be extemporised against the sword that the Frenchman had menacing in his hand. The action was so droll and futile that, in spite of his indignation, Count Victor had to smile; and this assured the little domestic, though he felt chagrin at the ridicule implied.
“Jist a bit plan o' my ain, Coont, to keep ye oot o' trouble, and I'm shair ye'll excuse the leeberty. A bonny-like thing it wad be if the maister cam' hame and foun' the Macfarlanes wer oot on the ran-dan and had picked ye oot o' Doom like a wulk oot o' its shell. It wisna like as if ye were ane o' the ordinar garrison, ye ken; ye were jist a kin' o' veesitor—”
“And it was I they were after,” said Count Victor, “which surely gave me some natural interest in the defence.”
“Ye were safer to bide whaur ye were; and hoo ye got oot o't 's mair than I can jalouse. We hae scalded aff the rogues wi' het water, and if they're to be keepit aff, I'll hae to be unco gleg wi' the kettle.”
As he said these words he saw, apparently for the first time, with a full understanding of its significance, the lamp in Count Victor's hands. His jaw fell; he put down the kettle again helplessly, and, in trembling tones, “Whaur did ye get the lamp?” said he.
“Ah, mon vieux!” cried Count Victor, enjoying his bewilderment. “You should have locked the lady's door as well as mine. 'Art a poor warder not to think of the possibilities in two cells so close to each other.”