Never had any man more cause for dread, for I was weak, and to resist him was death.  I was speechless, and could utter no voice that the people in the house might hear.  As for mine enemy, he had always loathed and scorned me; he had a long account of vengeance to settle with me; and if—­which was not to be thought of—­he was minded to spare one that had saved his life, yet, for his own safety, he dared not.  He had beguiled the Maid with his false tongue, and his face, not seen by her in the taking of St. Loup, she knew not.  But he knew that I would disclose all the truth so soon as the Maid returned, wherefore he was bound to destroy me, which he would assuredly do with every mockery, cruelty, and torture of body and mind.  Merely to think of him when he was absent was wont to make my flesh creep, so entirely evil beyond the nature of sinful mankind was this monster, and so set on working all kinds of mischief with greediness.  Whether he had suffered some grievous wrong in his youth, which he spent his life in avenging on all folk, or whether, as I deem likely, he was the actual emissary of Satan, as the Maid was of the saints, I know not, and, as I lay there, had no wits left to consider of it.  Only I knew that no more unavailing victim than I was ever so utterly in the power of a foe so deadly and terrible.

The Maid had gone, and all hope had gone with her.  For a time that seemed unending mine enemy neither spoke nor moved, standing still in the chink of light, a devil where an angel had been.

There was silence, and I heard the Maid’s iron tread pass down the creaking wooden stairs, and soon I heard the sound of singing birds, for my window looked out on the garden.

The steps ceased, and then there was a low grating laughter in the dark room, as if the devil laughed.

Brother Thomas moved stealthily to the door, and thrust in the wooden bolt.  Then he sat him heavily down on my bed, and put his fiend’s face close to mine, his eyes stabbing into my eyes.  But I bit my lip, and stared right back into his yellow wolf’s eyes, that shone like flames of the pit with evil and cruel thoughts.

So I lay, with that yellow light on me; and strength came strangely to me, and I prayed that, since die I must, I might at least gladden him with no sign of fear.  When he found that he could not daunton me, he laughed again.

“Our chick of Pitcullo has picked up a spirit in the wars,” he said; and turning his back on me, he leaned his face on his hand, and so sat thinking.

The birds of May sang in the garden; there was a faint shining of silver and green, from the apple-boughs and buds without, in the little chamber; and the hooded back of the cordelier was before me on my bed, like the shape of Death beside the Sick Man, in a picture.  Now I did not even pray, I waited.

Doubtless he knew that no cruel thing which the devil could devise was more cruel than this suspense.