"Very salubrious, if it were not for the shooting stars."
Then as the soldier stared at him he hastened to explain.
"My quip. The shooting star was a Burgundian arrow a cloth-yard long
which came winging its way over the walls at noon and made itself at
home in my garden. Here is what the arrow carried."
He pulled from his pouch a small piece of parchment folded and
sealed, and handed it to the seeming soldier. The disguised
constable took the missive and scanned it narrowly.
"The seal has not been tampered with," he said to himself. Ren
caught him up with a noble gesture of indignation.
"I never read other people's letters," he protested.
Thibaut shrugged his shoulders.
"It would have profited you little if you had," he said, as he broke
the seal and turning aside stooped a little to read by the faint
fire light what the letter said. It was couched in words that seemed
commonplace enough, but Thibaut knew their secret meaning, knew that
the Duke of Burgundy would do all that he asked, give him a duchy,
give him the girl he coveted, all that he might ask for or lust for
if he would only play the traitor and deliver Louis into the Duke of
Burgundy's hands.
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