"Hallo—who's there?"
"Jerome."
"The devil! You are late, and at the wrong place."
"You'll thank me for being here at all."
De Rothan unbolted the door and let Monsieur Jerome in. He looked tired and sulky, with a shock-haired head that resembled the head of a wild beast. His forehead showed a big, purpling bruise.
He was a bearer of bad news, and he looked it. De Rothan guessed that at the first glance.
"What has gone wrong?"
"I'm thirsty. I'll drink first."
"Good, my child. Is it Dutch courage you want?"
"Look you here, Monsieur de Rothan, if I have come here to save your neck, keep your accursed tongue out of your cheek. I'll have none of it."