D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 62: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Petrel. 53 Stoic, and returned to sit nearer the outer air, saying, without her heeding: “Let me think!” He crossed his legs, hid his face in his hands and re- flected deeply. In his close abstraction, he squeezed: his hands until the joints cracked; that might have been merely a popular exorcism against evil spirits. Disheartened by this inattention, the mule flapped its ears, emitted a strangled cry and drew back and out- wards, finally straggling toward the horse above, by cir- cuitous ways. The Soleiman of Silves seemed too young a man to suffer such prostration for what should be a petty loss; very poor or miserly he must be who broke his heart over this blow to the salt industry and the future of the tavern for its employees. But he was dwelling: on it. “They were thriving so well,’ muttered he. “I had orders for them to supply all Brittany with salt, to be delivered, as Pedro would, in the teeth of the royal tithe- gatherers. It is much to have a minister wink at things _ which despoil the nobles but keep the poor people alive! -And the vanished hostel! It must have done well, for that Pedro is a superior man who makes every one he meets his friend. He is no waster, although in the way of business he sets the lead. ‘Gentlemen, fill up! in a full glass there is no chance for a headache to creep!’ I have heard him! noble sentiments in an innkeeper! But all gone—cask and‘ spile! By my ancient faith! Nobles of Spain! you shall bleed for this, and from the heart, too! King of Spain, you shall lose your best investment! Ah, if those licensed robbers, after having leveled my village —for I helped create it—had only perpetrated the irony of sowing the foundation with salt, the scrapings might re- turn ten or twelve per centum. Robbers all, from the crown to the earthsill!’”’ Suddenly, the negress rose; the fire had lingered and she made it blaze by pouring in some terebinthine out of a jar. With the glare she was transfigured. Instead of a greasy cook, she looked, to the astonished guest, a pythoness in her cave of destiny. Brushing by the la- GOMIGDOOKS