"All, M. de Gol; we have them all!" he cried exultingly. "Now
they shall smart for it! Depend upon it, it is some deep-laid
scheme of that party. I have said so."
But the Mayor of Gol, a stout, big, placid man, looked at us
doubtfully. "Well," he said, "I know these two; they are
strolling mountebanks, honest knaves enough but always in some
mischief."
"What, strolling clowns?" M. Grabot rejoined, his face falling.
"Ay, and you may depend upon it it is some joke of theirs," his
friend answered, his eyes twinkling. "I begin to think that you
would have done better if you had waited a little before bringing
M. le Comte into the matter."
"Ah, but there are these two," M. Grabot cried, as he recovered
from the momentary panic into which the other's words had thrown
him. "Depend upon it they are the chief movers. What else but
treason could they mean by asserting that one of them was Mayor
of Bottitort? By denying my title? By setting up other officers
than those to whom his Gracious Majesty has delegated his
authority?"
"Umph!" his brother Mayor said, "I don't know these gentlemen.
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