"And it will not be sybaritic, either – at least, not for you," added the other brute, firmly tying Samouard's hands.
They led Gamgès to the seashore and forced him into a boat.
"Where are you taking me?" insisted Gamgès. "When M. de Villefaramir hears how you have treated me, he will not be pleased at all, oh non, pas de tout. Parbleu, your manners are worse than those of the customs officials in Lottaloria."
"It is to no place so fair that we lead you," retorted one of the guards, stifling a chuckle.
"Shall I recount to him a few stories on the way over?" suggested another. "It would not astonish me if he's never been in the charmant Château de Locqueholles before, so he may want to know what to expect. This should be fort amusant."
The Château de Locqueholles! Who had not heard of that infamous stronghold, from which none had ever returned? It was indeed one of the works of L'Arthédain long ago, during the reign of Aragon XIV, when, after the Thirty Years' War, the minister Arichelieu kept watch on the Huguenots of Anguemard. Gazing in front of him, Samouard beheld that mysterious form, that prison around which reigns such profound terror, that fortress which has inspired Hobbitonne's most lugubrious traditions for three hundred years, suffering no rival, laughing at flattery, secure in its pride and its immeasurable strength. Samouard lurched in the boat, and fainted.
