"
Diego muttered something, and Maignan that he had not got any;
but before I could answer that he must get some, La Trape thrust
his may to the front, and producing a small piece from his
pocket, proceeded with a droll air of extreme carefulness to
treat the hand. The other knaves fell into the joke, and the
Spaniard had no option but to submit; though his scowling face
showed that he bore Maignan no good-will, and that but for my
presence he might not have been so complaisant. La Trape was
bringing his surgery to an end by demanding a fee, in the most
comical manner possible, when the King returned to our part of
the court. "What is it?" he said. "Is anything the matter?"
"No, sire," I said. "My man has cut his hand a little, but it is
nothing."
"Can he play?" Henry asked with his accustomed good-nature.
"Oh, yes, sire," I answered. "I have bound it up with a strip of
plaister from the case in your Majesty's closet."
"He has not lost blood?"
"No, sire."
And he had not. But it was small wonder that the King asked;
small wonder, for the man's face had changed in the last ten
seconds to a strange leaden colour; a terror like that of a wild
beast that sees itself trapped had leapt into his eyes.
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