I had kissed his hands; I had poured forth my thanks; I had reached the door already, and he was in the act of turning to La Fosse, when it came into my head to glance at the warrant he had given me. He noticed this and my sudden halt.
“Is aught amiss?” he asked.
“You-you have omitted something, Sire,” I ventured, and I returned to the table. “I am already so grateful that I hesitate to ask an additional favour. Yet it is but troubling you to add a few strokes of the pen, and it will not materially affect the sentence itself.”
He glanced at me, and his brows drew together as he sought to guess my meaning.
“Well, man, what is it?” he demanded impatiently.
“It has occurred to me that this poor Vicomte, in a strange land, alone, among strange faces, missing the loved ones that for so many years he has seen daily by his side, will be pitiably lonely.”
The King's glance was lifted suddenly to my face. “Must I then banish his family as well?”
“All of it will not be necessary, Your Majesty.”
For once his eyes lost their melancholy, and as hearty a burst of laughter as ever I heard from that poor, weary gentleman he vented then.
“Ciel! what a jester you are! Ah, but I shall miss you!” he cried, as, seizing the pen, he added the word I craved of him.