"I think that there is only your posset, sire," I said, "and the lemon-water which you generally drink."
"And two or three other things?"
"Perhaps they have given your majesty some of the Arbois wine that you were good enough to—"
"Tut-tut!" he said, lifting the cover of one of the cups. "This is not wine. It may be a milk-posset."
"Yes, sire; very likely," I said drowsily.
"But it is not!" he answered, when he had smelled it. "It is plain milk! Come, my friend," he continued, looking drolly at me, "have you turned leech, or I babe is arms that you put such strong liquors before me? However, to show you that I have some childish tastes left, and am not so depraved as you have been trying to make me out for the last hour—I will drink your health in it. It would serve you right if I made you pledge me in the same liquor!"
The cup was at his lips when I sprang forward and, heedless of ceremony, caught his arm. "Pardon, sire!" I cried, in sudden agitation. "If that is milk, I gave no order that it should be placed here; and I know nothing of its origin. I beg that you will not drink it, until I have made some inquiry."
"They have all been tasted?" he asked, still holding the cup in his hand with the lid raised, but looking at it gravely.
"They should have been!" I answered. "But La Trape, whom I made answerable for that, is outside. I will go and question him. If you will wait, sire, a moment—"
"No," Henry said. "Have him here."