“Your Highness,” answered Biassou, redoubling his obeisances, “you know well that all Jean Biassou has is yours, and that you can dispose as freely of all as you can of Jean Biassou himself.”
“I do not ask for so much,” replied Pierrot, quickly; “all I ask is the life and liberty of this prisoner,” and he pointed to me.
For a moment Biassou appeared embarrassed, but he speedily recovered himself.
“Your servant is in despair, your Highness, for you ask of him, to his great regret, more than he can grant; he is not Jean Biassou’s prisoner, does not belong to Jean Biassou, and has nothing to do with Jean Biassou.”
“What do you mean?” asked Pierrot, in severe tones, “by saying that he does not belong to you? Does any one else hold authority here except you?”
“Alas, yes, your Highness.”
“Who is it?”
“My army.”
The sly and obsequious manner in which Biassou eluded the frank and haughty questions of Pierrot, showed, had it depended solely upon himself, he would gladly have treated his visitor with far less respect than he felt himself now compelled to do.
“What!” exclaimed Pierrot, “your army; and do not you command it?”