_Captain La Hire comes in: a war dog with no court manners and pronounced camp ones._ BLUEBEARD. I have just been telling the Chamberlain and the Archbishop. The Archbishop says you are a lost man. LA HIRE [_striding past Bluebeard, and planting himself between the Archbishop and La Trémouille_] This is nothing to joke about. It is worse than we thought. It was not a soldier, but an angel dressed as a soldier. THE ARCHBISHOP } THE CONSTABLE } [_exclaiming all together_] An angel! BLUEBEARD } LA HIRE. Yes, an angel. She has made her way from Champagne with half a dozen men through the thick of everything: Burgundians, Goddams, deserters, robbers, and Lord knows who; and they never met a soul except the country folk. I know one of them: de Poulengey. He says she’s an angel. If ever I utter an oath again may my soul be blasted to eternal damnation. THE ARCHBISHOP. A very pious beginning, Captain. _Bluebeard and La Trémouille laugh at him. The page returns._ THE PAGE. His Majesty. _They stand perfunctorily at court attention. The Dauphin, aged 26, really King Charles the Seventh since the death of his father, but as yet uncrowned, comes in through the curtains with a paper in his hands. He is a poor creature physically; and the current fashion of shaving closely, and hiding every scrap of hair under the head-covering or headdress, both by women and men, makes the worst of his appearance. He has little narrow eyes, near together, a long pendulous nose that droops over his thick short upper lip, and the expression of a young dog accustomed to be kicked, yet incorrigible and irrepressible. But he is neither vulgar nor stupid; and he has a cheeky humor which enables him to hold his own in conversation. Just at present he is excited, like a child with a new toy. He comes to the Archbishop’s left hand. Bluebeard and La Hire retire towards the curtains._ CHARLES. Oh, Archbishop, do you know what Robert de Baudricourt is sending me from Vaucouleurs? THE ARCHBISHOP [_contemptuously_] I am not interested in the newest toys. CHARLES [_indignantly_] It isnt a toy. [_Sulkily_] However, I can get on very well without your interest. THE ARCHBISHOP. Your Highness is taking offence very unnecessarily. CHARLES. Thank you. You are always ready with a lecture, arnt you? LA TRÉMOUILLE [_roughly_] Enough grumbling. What have you got there? CHARLES. What is that to you? LA TRÉMOUILLE. It is my business to know what is passing between you and the garrison at Vaucouleurs. [_He snatches the paper from the Dauphin’s hand, and begins reading it with some difficulty, following the words with his finger and spelling them out syllable by syllable._] CHARLES [_mortified_] You all think you can treat me as you please because I owe you money, and because I am no good at fighting. But I have the blood royal in my veins.