“Welcome, gentlemen!” he said, smiling at us—­and never had the cast been so apparent in his eyes.  “Welcome to Paris, M. Anne!”

CHAPTER IV.

Entrapped!

There was a long silence.  We stood glaring at him, and he smiled upon us—­as a cat smiles.  Croisette told me afterwards that he could have died of mortification—­of shame and anger that we had been so outwitted.  For myself I did not at once grasp the position.  I did not understand.  I could not disentangle myself in a moment from the belief in which I had entered the house—­ that it was Louis de Pavannes’ house.  But I seemed vaguely to suspect that Bezers had swept him aside and taken his place.  My first impulse therefore—­obeyed on the instant—­was to stride to the Vidame’s side and grasp his arm.  “What have you done?” I cried, my voice sounding hoarsely even in my own ears.  “What have you done with M. de Pavannes?  Answer me!”

He showed just a little more of his sharp white teeth as he looked down at my face—­a flushed and troubled face doubtless.  “Nothing—­yet,” he replied very mildly.  And he shook me off.

“Then,” I retorted, “how do you come here?”

He glanced at Croisette and shrugged his shoulders, as if I had been a spoiled child.  “M.  Anne does not seem to understand,” he said with mock courtesy, “that I have the honour to welcome him to my house the Hotel Bezers, Rue de Platriere.”

“The Hotel Bezers!  Rue de Platriere!” I cried confusedly.  “But Blaise Bure told us that this was the Rue St. Antoine!”

“Ah!” he replied as if slowly enlightened—­the hypocrite!  “Ah!  I see!” and he smiled grimly.  “So you have made the acquaintance of Blaise Bure, my excellent master of the horse!  Worthy Blaise!  Indeed, indeed, now I understand.  And you thought, you whelps,” he continued, and as he spoke his tone changed strangely, and he fixed us suddenly with angry eyes, “to play a rubber with me!  With me, you imbeciles!  You thought the wolf of Bezers could be hunted down like any hare!  Then listen, and I will tell you the end of it.  You are now in my house and absolutely at my mercy.  I have two score men within call who would cut the throats of three babes at the breast, if I bade them!  Ay,” he, added, a wicked exultation shining in his eyes, “they would, and like the job!”

He was going on to say more, but I interrupted him.  The rage I felt, caused as much by the thought of our folly as by his arrogance, would let me be silent no longer.  “First, M. de Bezers, first,” I broke out fiercely, my words leaping over one another in my haste, “a word with you!  Let me tell you what I think of you!  You are a treacherous hound, Vidame!  A cur! a beast!  And I spit upon you!  Traitor and assassin!” I shouted, “is that not enough?  Will nothing provoke you?  If you call yourself a gentleman, draw!”