"As your excellency pleases." And then, bending for an instant over the wounded arm: "He must have been a rare swordsman to have beaten you."
Simon writhed in his chair. "Beaten me! I had the dog at my mercy, but was not quick enough in the last parry."
"Ah, excellency, 'tis always that little delay that causes accidents like this." And Trotto made a gesture towards the wounded arm; but Simon snarled at him:
"Don't touch it, fool! Ugh! how it stings! There is one consolation, however—that he must be squirming himself with pain now."
"Eh! Then you touched him?"
"Twice, Trotto, twice!"
"Ah! that accounts for his wearing his cloak so tightly over his left shoulder."
Simon started: "Wearing his cloak so tightly! Have you seen him?"
Torquato nodded, and the Vidame went on impatiently: "Are you dreaming, or am I? You have not been out of the house."
"But, excellency, benighted travellers might seek the house for rest and a guide to the ford of the Mable." At these words a red flush came over Simon's face, and he half rose from his chair.