Maurice gazed toward the door. As he did so four pairs of arms
enveloped him, and before he could offer the slightest
resistance, he was bound hand and foot, a scarf was tied over
his mouth, and he was pushed most disrespectfully into a chair.
The baron's mouth was twisted out of shape, and the troopers
were smiling.
"My faith! but this is the drollest affair I ever was in;" and
the baron sat on the edge of the table and held his sides.
"Monsieur Carewe! Ha! ha! You are a little too stiff to dance,
eh? Shall I tender your excuses to the ladies? Ass! did you
dream for a moment that such canaille as you, might show your
countenance to any save the scullery maids? Too stiff to dance!
Ye gods, but that was rich! And you had the audacity to return
here! I must go; the thing is killing me." He slipped off the
table, red in the face and choking. "The telegraph has its uses;
it came ahead of you. We trembled for fear you would not come!
Men, guard him as your lives, while I report to Madame, I dare
say she will make it droller in the telling."
He stepped to the door, turned, looking into the prisoner's
glaring eyes; he doubled up again.
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