“Trees! But we have to try you first.”
“Try me!” and Bertrand gave a grim laugh; “please dispense with such a formality.”
“We are honorable men, messire.”
“I do not doubt it. Well, if you must drag me to this place you need not have me thrown like a bundle at Madame Tiphaïne’s feet.”
Dubois watched him narrowly.
“In the orchard, hidden by the trees, there is a little hovel that the farm-folk use for tools and wood. Throw me in there, and say nothing. I assure you that for this consideration I will speak well of you in heaven.”
Bertrand’s grim quaintness had its effect upon Dubois.
“Let it be as you wish,” he said; “the Sieur de Tinteniac and his wife need not be told that we have a prisoner.”
“Nor who that prisoner is. My heart’s thanks to you. One last word.”
“Well?”