The young man who sat with the general and answered to "your Lordship" was approaching me, hand extended.
"Glad to see you; sit down," he said in the same quiet, languid, forceful tone I had heard before.
It was all very odd. The guards were gone; we were apparently as free as any of them.
"I shall try to make you comfortable," he remarked. A servant began filling a row of glasses. "We have here wine and wit and all the accessories, including women. I should introduce you, but I have not the honor of your acquaintance. Let it suffice to say these are my friends" (he turned to those who sat about), "and, gentlemen, these are my enemies," he added, turning to us. "Let us hope they may die happy."
"And with a fighting chance," I added, lifting the glass without tasting it.
D'ri sat, his brows lifted, his hands in his pockets, his legs crossed. He looked curiously from one to another.
"Horton," said his Lordship, as he sat down,
