"I thought I was to be starved," he remarked, and came lounging over to the table and sat himself down on the arm of his chair, idly swinging one foot. The chief gaoler smiled indulgently. "No, no, señor. It is only that the cook spoiled one of the dishes--or rather, I should say, that one of the scullions, left to stir it, let it burn a little--and the whole had to be made again." The other man was busy shaking out a cloth and spreading it over the table. Sir Nicholas sniffed the air. "Well, it hath a very savoury odour," he said. "Let us see the _chef d'œuvre_." The knife was set, a bottle of wine placed carefully beside the cup at Beauvallet's elbow, and a shining cover lifted with a flourish. "Marvellous!" said Sir Nicholas. He still sat negligently on the arm of his chair, sideways to the table. "Present my compliments to the cook." He stretched out his hand for the bottle, while the soldier took salt and pepper from the tray he had brought, and put them on the table. He poured out a cupful of the wine, and raised it with a little laugh. "Tell the cook I drink his very good health!" he said, and made as if to toss off the wine. But that fine gesture was stayed before he had done more than taste it. The cup left his lips; he pulled a grimace. "My very dear friends!" he said. "What's this? Do you seek to poison me? What have you brought me here?" The soldiers stared at him. "_Madre de Dios_, señor, there is no thought of poisoning you!" said one of them, shocked. Sir Nicholas smiled. "I did but jest. But you have brought me a very vile potion, none the less. Let me have another bottle, my good fellow. Take this away." The chief frowned upon his subordinate, shifting the blame from off his own shoulders. "Dolt! Take up the bottle! What, do you bring the señor bad wine? Pardon, señor! an oversight. The cup, fool! take away the cup and bring a clean one back!" He hustled his protesting fellow towards the door. "It was you chose the wine," grumbled the unfortunate. "You confused the bottles," the other said hastily. "Get you gone, get you gone! Will you have the señor's supper grow cold?" "You have the key," his subordinate pointed out. "I did not confuse the bottles, I tell you. You yourself----" "A'God's mercy, have done!" struck in Sir Nicholas curtly. "I care not who made the mistake so long as you bring me a fresh bottle." "On the instant, señor!" his gaoler assured him, responding instinctively to the voice of authority. He unlocked the door, pushed the wine-bearer out, and slammed the door again behind him, once more locking it. Sir Nicholas' lashes drooped over his eyes, hiding the sudden gleam in them. The departing soldier had not taken the key with him. "Put the cover over this very choice dish again, my man," said Sir Nicholas. "Certainly, señor!" The man picked it up and came all unsuspecting to the table.