“Sh, my good Ganymede. Not only will I take you back, but I shall strive to make amends for my brutality. Come, my friend, you shall have twenty golden Louis to buy unguents for your poor shoulders.”
“Monseigneur is very good,” he murmured, whereupon I would have embraced him again but that he shivered and drew back.
“No, no, monseigneur,” he whispered fearfully. “It is a great honour, but it—it pains me to be touched.”
“Then take the will for the deed. And now for these gentlemen below stairs.” I rose and moved to the door.
“Order Gilles to beat their brains out,” was Ganymede's merciful suggestion.
I shook my head. “We might be detained for doing murder. We have no proof yet of their intentions—I think—” An idea flashed suddenly across my mind. “Go back to your room, Ganymede,” I bade him. “Lock yourself in, and do not stir until I call you. I do not wish their suspicions aroused.”
I opened the door, and as Ganymede obediently slipped past me and vanished down the passage “Monsieur l'Hote,” I called. “Ho, there, Gilles!”
“Monsieur,” answered the landlord.
“Monseigneur,” replied Gilles; and there came a stir below.
“Is aught amiss?” the landlord questioned, a note of concern in his voice.