"In a word," I said quietly, "it will govern. The King, I suppose, having abdicated."
Doury shrank bodily, and even lost some of his colour. "God forbid!" he said, in a whining tone. "It will do all in his Majesty's name."
"And by his authority?"
The inn-keeper stared at me, startled and nonplussed; and muttered something about the people.
"Ah!" I said. "It is the people who invite me to govern, then, is it? With an inn-keeper and a peasant? And other inn-keepers and peasants, I suppose? To govern! To usurp his Majesty's functions? To supersede his magistrates; to bribe his forces? In a word, friend Doury," I continued suavely, "to commit treason. Treason, you understand?"
The inn-keeper did; and he wiped his forehead with a shaking hand, and stood, scared and speechless, looking at me piteously. A second time the blacksmith took it on himself to answer.
"Monseigneur," he muttered, drawing his great black hand across his beard.
"Buton," I answered suavely, "permit me. For a man who aspires to govern the country, you are too respectful."
"You have omitted one thing it is for the Committee to do," the smith answered hoarsely, looking--like a timid, yet sullen, dog--anywhere but in my face.
"And that is?"