"He made love to my wife," commented the Governor.
"The three Yung-herren of Lammerbourg—you made their father, the Count, childless in one day."
"And he made me landless," said Sir Archibald, "so that account is settled.—Thou needest read no further," he continued: "I admit thy record, though it is written in letters somewhat of the reddest. I had counted these three young gentlemen as one execution."
"You did me the greater wrong," said Francis; "they cost three good separate blows of this good sword."
"Be it so, and God be with their souls," said Hagenbach. "But thy ambition must go to sleep for a while, Scharfgerichter, for the stuff that came hither to-day is for dungeon and cord, or perhaps a touch of the rack or strappado—there is no honour to win on them."
"The worse luck mine," said the executioner. "I had dreamed so surely that your honour had made me noble;—and then the fall of my sword?"
"Take a bowl of wine, and forget your auguries."
"With your honour's permission, no," said the executioner; "to drink before noon were to endanger the nicety of my hand."
"Be silent, then, and mind your duty," said De Hagenbach.
Francis took up his sheathless sword, wiped the dust reverently from it, and withdrew into a corner of the chamber, where he stood leaning with his hands on the pommel of the fatal weapon.