"
"Oh, ay, Constable," said Simon. "You're always so down on a man,
aren't you? Well, then, madam, the king has enjoyed fine sport.
For we started a boar at eleven, and--"
"Is this the king's message, Simon?" asked the queen, smiling in
genuine amusement, but impatiently.
"Why, no, madam, not precisely his majesty's message."
"Then get to it, man, in Heaven's name," growled Sapt testily.
For here were we four (the queen, too, one of us!) on
tenterhooks, while the fool boasted about the sport that he had
shown the king. For every boar in the forest Simon took as much
credit as though he, and not Almighty God, had made the animal.
It is the way with such fellows.
Simon became a little confused under the combined influence of
his own seductive memories and Sapt's brusque exhortations.
"As I was saying, madam," he resumed, "the boar led us a long
way, but at last the hounds pulled him down, and his majesty
himself gave the coup de grace. Well, then it was very late "
"It's no earlier now," grumbled the constable.
"And the king, although indeed, madam, his majesty was so
gracious as to say that no huntsman whom his majesty had ever
had, had given his majesty--"
"God help us!" groaned the constable.
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