In a room on the ground floor of the castle, whence the clashing of
steel could not penetrate to Marie's apartments, the two men, master and
man, would fight their friendly battles twice daily, and with such vigor
that their bodies (as they wore no plastrons) were covered with
scratches and bruises.
One morning the count waited in vain for Henry to make his appearance in
the fencing-hall. It was long past the usual hour for their practice,
and the count, becoming impatient, went in search of the old servant.
The groom's apartment was on the same floor with the kitchen, adjoining
the room occupied by his wife Lisette, the cook.
The door of Henry's room which opened into the corridor was locked; the
count, therefore, passed into the kitchen, where Lisette was preparing
dinner.
"Where is Henry?" he asked of the unwieldy mountain of flesh, topped by
a face as broad and round as the full moon.
"He is in bed," replied Lisette, without looking up from her work.
"Is he ill?"
"I believe he has had a stroke of apoplexy."
She said it with as little emotion as if she had spoken of an underdone
pasty.
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