“Beim blute Gottes!” quoth he, “do you whet your trader's wit upon me, scum?”
And to the waiting men-at-arms:
“Take him back to his dungeon,” he commanded, “that in its quiet he may study a proper carriage before he is next brought before us.”
Danvelt was haled away to gaol again, to repent him of his pertness and to reflect that, under the governorship of Claudius von Rhynsault, it was not only the guilty who had need to go warily.
The Governor sat back in his chair with a grunt. His secretary, on his immediate right, leaned towards him.
“It were easy to test the truth of the man's assertion,” said he. “Let his servants and his wife attend and be questioned as to when he was in Flushing and when married.”
“Aye,” growled von Rhynsault. “Let it be done. I don't doubt we shall discover that the dog was lying.”
But no such discovery was made when, on the morrow, Danvelt's household and his wife stood before the Governor to answer his questions. Their replies most fully bore out the tale Danvelt had told, and appeared in other ways to place it beyond all doubt that he had taken no part, in deed or even in thought, in the rebellion against the Duke of Burgundy. His wife protested it solemnly and piteously.
“To this I can swear, my lord,” she concluded. “I am sure no evidence can be brought against him, who was ever loyal and ever concerned with his affairs and with me at the time in question. My lord”—she held out her hands towards the grim German, and her lovely eyes gleamed with unshed tears of supplication—“I implore you to believe me, and in default of witnesses against him to restore my husband to me.”
Rhynsault's blue eyes kindled now as they considered her, and his full red lips slowly parted in the faintest and most inscrutable of smiles. She was very fair to look upon—of middle height and most exquisite shape. Her gown, of palest saffron, edged with fur, high-waisted according to the mode, and fitted closely to the gently swelling bust, was cut low to display the white perfection of her neck. Her softly rounded face looked absurdly childlike under the tall-crowned hennin, from which a wispy veil floated behind her as she moved.