A
sentinel at the foot of the tower stairs presented arms; another
paced the first landing; and a third was stationed before the door
of the extemporised prison.
'We guard this mud-bag like a jewel,' Otto sneered.
The Gamiani apartment was so called from an Italian doctor who had
imposed on the credulity of a former prince. The rooms were large,
airy, pleasant, and looked upon the garden; but the walls were of
great thickness (for the tower was old), and the windows were
heavily barred. The Prince, followed by the Chancellor, still
trotting to keep up with him, brushed swiftly through the little
library and the long saloon, and burst like a thunderbolt into the
bedroom at the farther end. Sir John was finishing his toilet; a
man of fifty, hard, uncompromising, able, with the eye and teeth of
physical courage. He was unmoved by the irruption, and bowed with a
sort of sneering ease.
'To what am I to attribute the honour of this visit?' he asked.
'You have eaten my bread,' replied Otto, 'you have taken my hand,
you have been received under my roof. When did I fail you in
courtesy? What have you asked that was not granted as to an
honoured guest? And here, sir,' tapping fiercely on the manuscript,
'here is your return.'
'Your Highness has read my papers?' said the Baronet. 'I am
honoured indeed. But the sketch is most imperfect.
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