Such were my first impressions, until I noted a certain manliness imparted thereto by the heavy moustaches adorning the upper lip, almost yellow in color, curled sharply upward, so heavily waxed at the ends as nearly to reach the ears, or rather to lose themselves amid the luxuriant growth of hair.  This latter, of the same unusual tinge, swept low over the shoulders, and was trimmed squarely across the forehead according to a fashion then prevalent among young French cavaliers.  His dress was not a uniform, but that of the latest mode in the province, somewhat exaggerated, I thought, as to length of the bronze shoes and glaring color of the waistcoat.  All these details I noted, as he turned somewhat indolently in my direction, calmly flipping the ash from off a cigarette, and permitting a spiral of thin blue smoke to curl slowly upward from his lips into the air.

“So it is you, you miserable, drunken reprobate!” he exclaimed, a touch of temper tingling in a voice I felt must naturally be soft and low.  “Have you dared come back to pester me with your abominable consolations?  Sacre! did I not bid you this afternoon to let me alone?  I care nothing for your tipsy paternosters.  Faith, man, it will be pleasanter to face that firing squad to-morrow than your drunken prayers to-night.  Come, get out of the room before I lay unregenerate hands upon your shaven poll.  I am but giving you fair warning, priest, for I am quick of blow when my blood is heated, nor care I greatly for the curses of Mother Church.”

I stepped quickly forward, coming as directly before him as the great sea-chest would permit, fearful lest his loud words might be distinguishable beyond the closed door.  Then, with silent gesture of warning, I flung aside the heavy cowl which had concealed my features.

“You, I presume, are Charles de Noyan,” I said gravely.  “I am not Father Cassati, nor drunken priest of any Order of Holy Church.”

The prisoner was thoroughly astounded.  This I could perceive by the sudden gleam leaping into his eyes, but that he retained marvellous control over every muscle was abundantly proven by the fact that no change of attitude, or of voice, gave slightest evidence of emotion.

“Well, Mother of God preserve me!” he exclaimed, with a short, reckless laugh. “’Tis some small comfort to know even that much.  Yet may I politely inquire who the devil you are, to invade thus coolly the bedchamber of a gentleman, without so much as asking leave, at this unholy hour of the morning? Pardieu, man, are you aware that this is the last night on earth I have?”

He was staring at me through blue rings of tobacco smoke, very much as one might observe some peculiar animal seen for the first time.

“Had it been otherwise you might rest assured I should never have troubled you,” I replied, some constraint in my voice, his boyish bravado of speech rasping harshly upon my nerves.  “But time presses, Chevalier; there remains small space for useless exchange of compliment, nor does indifference appear becoming to those in such grave peril as you and I.”