Part 14 (1/2)
”Much, truly. I am troubled this morning when I hear that a spy has half killed a sentry. I say to myself, 'That is one man less in the castle to defend it against its enemies.'”
The Count laughed at the dwarf's att.i.tude and his air of wisdom.
”Ah, you say, 'What is one man?'” he went on. ”The whole world is made up of one man after another. They all count. Why, to-day I'm worth more than the dead Duke yonder.”
”There's truth in that,” said the priest.
”And then when I come to the castle to see the poor soldiers, I---”
”Poor! Why poor?”
”Because they have to do what they're told and go where they're led, and G.o.d made men for better things than that. This wounded sentry, I find, is a particular friend of mine. He doesn't know it, but he is.
That's the way of the world; we seldom do know our best friends. I've never spoken to him nor he to me, but I always look out for him, because his coat fits so badly. He's a poor figure of a man, your Grace, and an ill-fitting coat suits him. I will go with you and see how he does.”
”Better run away, Jean, before I have you whipped.”
”Whipped? For what, Lord Duke?”
”Silence, fool!”
”It may be, Count, that clearer insight is given to those the world calls fools,” whispered Father Bertrand.
”That's a poor excuse for treason,” said the Count; and then, turning to the dwarf, he went on: ”The Duke comes to Vayenne to-day, Jean.
Have you not seen the soldiers in the streets ready to welcome him?”
”Ah! what a fool am I!” laughed the dwarf. ”I thought they were there to keep out any one else who might fancy himself Duke. I'll go and await his coming. But first, I pray you, let me see my ill-made friend. Nature has made such a mess of him, I doubt whether even the spy can have made him much worse.”
”The fellow is an amusing fool, father. I've heard wise men talk more folly. Come if you will, Jean.”
The sentry was conscious, but for all the Count's questions there was little to be got from him. He was standing with his back toward the wall when something fell on him and crushed him. He had no breath to cry out, and remembered nothing after the first thrust of the steel.
”Poor soldier!” muttered Jean.
”You saw no one run along the terrace?”
”No one,” the man answered.
”And you heard nothing when you stopped beneath the South Tower?”
asked the Count.
”No, sir,” said the man faintly. He was weak, and the Count turned away, followed by Father Bertrand and Jean.
”He is not such an ill-made fellow,” the Count said, turning to Jean.
”Ah! but you and I see with different eyes,” was the dwarf's quick answer. ”You would call me ill-made.”
”Strangely made,” said the Count.
”Just so. Now I like twisted limbs, they're less common. Mark you, in a crowd there will be more turn to look at me than at you.”
”And more will laugh at you,” said the Count.