"He will not say what he wants—except only that he comes on matters of extreme importance."
"Importance! importance!" repeated Le Gros Guillem irritably. "Importance to him and not to me. What is he? a farmer? Some of my boys have lifted an ox or carried off a daughter. I will not see him."
"Captain, he comes from La Roque."
"Then I will have nothing to do with him. I have no dealings with the people of La Roque. Run your pikes into his calves and make him skip down the hill."
The attendant retired but returned shortly with a slip of paper, which he put into the Captain's hand. Guillem would have thrust it aside. "A scribbling petitioner—worst of all! Does he look as if he had money? Can he be made to pay? If so we will put him in the mortar and pound him."
With careless indifference Guillem opened the paper and read the lines—
Messire le Gros,—If you want a lodging in La Roque now is your opportunity.
From one who has charge of the keys.
"Eh! eh!" exclaimed the Captain, flushing over his bald head, and his long fingers crushed the paper in excitement. "What! a chance of that? Show him in—and you, guard, stand at a distance at the door."
In another moment an old man with short-cut grey hair was introduced. He walked with the aid of a stick, and kept his eyes on the ground. He was habited in a shabby dark suit, out at elbows, somewhat clerical in cut, and he was shaved like a priest. His face was singularly mottled, in places yellow with sunburn, elsewhere white. He had bushy eyebrows that contrasted singularly with his close-clipped head and his smooth jaws.
"So!" said Guillem, striding up to him, "you have the keys—and who are you?"