Sacrilege

M. de Montsoreau, Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur almost rose from his seat
in his astonishment.

"What! No letters?" he cried, a hand on either arm of the chair.

The Magistrates stared, one and all. "No letters?" they muttered.

And "No letters?" the Provost chimed in more faintly.

Count Hannibal looked smiling round the Council table. He alone was
unmoved.

"No," he said. "I bear none."

M. de Montsoreau, who, travel-stained and in his corselet, had the second
place of honour at the foot of the table, frowned.

"But, M. le Comte," he said, "my instructions from Monsieur were to
proceed to carry out his Majesty's will in co-operation with you, who, I
understood, would bring letters de par le Roi."

"I had letters," Count Hannibal answered negligently. "But on the way I
mislaid them."

"Mislaid them?" Montsoreau cried, unable to believe his ears; while the
smaller dignitaries of the city, the magistrates and churchmen who sat on
either side of the table, gaped open-mouthed. It was incredible! It was
unbelievable! Mislay the King's letters! Who had ever heard of such a
thing?

"Yes, I mislaid them. Lost them, if you like it better."

"But you jest!" the Lieutenant-Governor retorted, moving uneasily in his
chair. He was a man more highly named for address than courage; and,
like most men skilled in finesse, he was prone to suspect a trap. "You
jest, surely, Monsieur! Men do not lose his Majesty's letters, by the
way."

"When they contain his Majesty's will, no," Tavannes answered, with a
peculiar smile.