'How did he lose it ?' I asked.
'At Rochelle.

He was a spy, and the king's people took him the day the town surrendered.

They spared his life, but cut out his tongue.' 'Ah!' I said.

I wished to say more, to be natural, to show myself at my ease.

But the porter's eyes seemed to burn into me, and my own tongue clave to the roof of my mouth.