"If I put up the gibbets and a man is hanged, and you have letters from the King, 'tis a rogue the less, and no harm done.

But if you have no letters from His Majesty, then it is on my shoulders they will put it, and 'twill be odd if they do not find a way to hang me to right him." Count Hannibal smiled grimly.

"And your sister's son ?" he sneered.

"And your girl who is white-faced for his sake, and may burn on the same bonfire with him?
And--" "Mercy! Mercy!" the wretched Provost cried.

And he wrung his hands.
"Lescot and Thuriot--" "Perhaps we may hang Lescot and Thuriot--" "But I see no way out," the Provost babbled.