“The credit belongs as much to your Grace as to me,” replied Musdœmon, careful, as we have already remarked, to mix the count in all his machinations.
The master understood this secret desire of his confidant, but chose to seem unconscious of it.
He smiled.
“My dear private secretary, you are always modest; but nothing can make me depreciate your most eminent services. Elphega’s presence and the Mecklenburger’s absence assure my triumph in Throndhjem. I am now at the head of the province; and if Hans of Iceland accepts the command of the rebels, which I intend to offer him in person, to me will fall, in the eyes of the king, the glory of putting down this distressing insurrection and capturing this terrible brigand.”
They were chatting thus in low voices when the guide rode back to them.
“Masters,” said he, “here on our left is the hillock upon which Biorn the Just had the double-tongued Vellon beheaded in the presence of his entire army, the traitor having driven off the king’s allies and summoned the enemy to the camp, that he might have the appearance of saving Biorn’s life.”
All these reminiscences of old Norway did not seem to be to Musdœmon’s taste, for he hurriedly interrupted the guide.
“Come, come, good man, be silent and go your way, without turning back so often. What do we care about the foolish stories of which these ruins and dead trees remind you? You annoy my master with your old wives’ tales.”
XXII.
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
While the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task foredone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud.
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide.
Shakespeare: Midsummer Night’s Dream.