“The Count himself will presently give your Grace an account of his news,” said D'Hymbercourt, “which we have heard but imperfectly.”
“Body of me, where is the Count?” said the Duke.
“He changes his dress, to wait upon your Highness,” answered D'Hymbercourt.
“His dress? Saint Bleu!” exclaimed the impatient Prince, “what care I for his dress! I think you have conspired with him to drive me mad.”
“Or rather, to be plain,” said De Comines, “he wishes to communicate these news at a private audience.”
“Teste dieu! my Lord King,” said Charles, “this is ever the way our counsellors serve us.—If they have got hold of aught which they consider as important for our ear, they look as grave upon the matter and are as proud of their burden as an ass of a new pack saddle.—Some one bid Crevecoeur come to us directly!—He comes from the frontiers of Liege, and we, at least” (he laid some emphasis on the pronoun), “have no secrets in that quarter which we would shun to have proclaimed before the assembled world.”
All perceived that the Duke had drunk so much wine as to increase the native obstinacy of his disposition; and though many would willingly have suggested that the present was neither a time for hearing news nor for taking counsel, yet all knew the impetuosity of his temper too well to venture on farther interference, and sat in anxious expectation of the tidings which the Count might have to communicate.
A brief interval intervened, during which the Duke remained looking eagerly to the door, as if in a transport of impatience; whilst the guests sat with their eyes bent on the table, as if to conceal their curiosity and anxiety. Louis, alone maintaining perfect composure, continued his conversation alternately with the grand carver and with the jester.
At length Crevecoeur entered, and was presently saluted by the hurried question of his master, “What news from Liege and Brabant, Sir Count?—the report of your arrival has chased mirth from our table—we hope your actual presence will bring it back to us.”
“My Liege and master,” answered the Count in a firm but melancholy tone, “the news which I bring you are fitter for the council board than the feasting table.”