Tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. “Perhaps she is of the same way of thinking?” he said.
The Provost started, and lost one half of his colour. “God forbid!” he cried, “saving Madame’s presence! Who says so, my lord, lies!”
“Ay, lies not far from the truth.”
“My lord!”
“Pish, man, Lescot has said it, and will act on it. And Thuriot, who prints for the University! Would you ’scape them? You would? Then listen to me. I want but two things. First, how many men has Montsoreau’s fellow in the Castle? Few, I know, for he is a niggard, and if he spends, he spends the Duke’s pay.”
“Twelve. But five can hold it.”
“Ay, but twelve dare not leave it! Let them stew in their own broth! And now for the other matter. See, man, that before daybreak three gibbets, with a ladder and two ropes apiece, are set up in the square. And let one be before this door. You understand? Then let it be done! The rest,” he added with a ferocious smile, “you may leave to me.”
The magistrate nodded rather feebly. “Doubtless,” he said, his eye wandering here and there, “there are rogues in Angers. And for rogues the gibbet! But saving your presence, my lord, it is a question whether—”
But M. de Tavannes’ patience was exhausted. “Will you do it?” he roared. “That is the question. And the only question.”
The Provost jumped, he was so startled. “Certainly, my lord, certainly!” he muttered humbly. “Certainly, I will!” And bowing frequently, but saying no more, he backed himself out of the room.