There was, as it happened, a streak of imagination in him. It was this that made him invent strange tricks and patterns for his juggling. It was this imagination that had made his eyes widen as the Duke and Amé had stepped from the darkness of the wood into the circle of light round the fire.
Then Amé had spoken and his attention had been drawn to her with a sense of excitement.
This was something he had never thought of, a boy to speak for his Master. He had listened to Amé’s soft cultured voice, he had liked the way she phrased her words and the gestures of her hand and the soft smile that parted her lips.
It was then, like a blinding light, the idea had come to him.
This was what he wanted, a spokesman, someone to administer to him while he, the great Master, would stroll ahead with
