or; in this grotesque, so much in love, it seemed, with his
employer, and so much his familiar and friend in a ridiculous Scots
fashion, the impertinence appeared pardonable. Besides, he blamed
himself for the ill-breeding of his own irony.

"That, if I may be permitted to point it out, is not for us to consider,
Monsieur Mungo," said he. "I have placed myself unreservedly in the
Baron's hands, and if he considers it good for my indifferent health
that I should change the air and take up my residence a little farther
along your delightful coast while my business as a wine merchant from
Bordeaux is marching, I have no doubt he has reason."

A smile he made no effort to conceal stole over Mungo's visage.

"Wine merchant frae Bordeaux!" he cried. "I've seen a hantle o' them
hereaboots at the fish-curin' season, but they cam' in gabbarts to
French Foreland, and it wasnae usual for them to hae Coont to their
names nor whingers to their hips. It was mair ordinar the ink-horn at
their belts and the sporran at their groins."

"A malediction on the creature's shrewdness!" said Count Victor
inwardly, while outwardly he simply smiled back.

"The red wine is my specialty," said he, patting his side where the hilt
of his sword should be. "My whinger, as you call it, is an auger: who
the devil ever broached a pipe of Scots spirits with a penknife? But I
see you are too much in the confidence of the Baron for there to be any
necessity of concealment between us."

"H'm!" exclaimed Mungo dryly, as one who has a sense of being flattered
too obviously. "The Baron's a bairn, like a' true gentlemen I've seen,
and he kens me lang enough and likes me weel enough to mak' nae secret
o' what it were to a'body's advantage should be nae secret to Mungo
Byde. In this place I'm sentinel, spy, and garrison; it wad ill become
the officer in command to let me be doin' my wark withoot some clew
to the maist important pairt o't. Ye're here on a search for ane
Drimdarroch."

"You are a wizard, Monsieur Mungo!" cried Montaiglon, not without
chagrin at Doom's handing over so vast and vital a secret to a menial.

"Ay, and ye might think it droll that I should ken that; But I be't to
ken it, for there's mony a plot against my maister, and nae foreigneer
comes inside thae wa's whase pedigree I canna' hae an inklin' o'. Ye're
here aifter Drimdarroch, and ye're no' very sure aboot your host, and
that's the last thing I wad haggle wi' ye aboot, for your e