"This
is not wine. It may be a milk-posset."
"Yes, sire; very likely," I said drowsily.
"But it is not!" he answered, when he had smelled it. "It is
plain milk! Come, my friend," he continued, looking drolly at
me, "have you turned leech, or I babe is arms that you put such
strong liquors before me? However, to show you that I have some
childish tastes left, and am not so depraved as you have been
trying to make me out for the last hour--I will drink your health
in it. It would serve you right if I made you pledge me in the
same liquor!"
The cup was at his lips when I sprang forward and, heedless of
ceremony, caught his arm. "Pardon, sire!" I cried, in sudden
agitation. "If that is milk, I gave no order that it should be
placed here; and I know nothing of its origin. I beg that you
will not drink it, until I have made some inquiry."
"They have all been tasted?" he asked, still holding the cup in
his hand with the lid raised, but looking at it gravely.
"They should have been!" I answered. "But La Trape, whom I made
answerable for that, is outside.
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