I had never killed a man before, nor seen a man die; and if I had stayed to think about it, I should have fallen sick perhaps.  But it was no time for thought; no time for sickness.  The crowd were close upon us, a line of flushed threatening faces from wall to wall.  A single glance downwards told me that the man was dead, and I set my foot upon his neck.  “Hounds!  Beasts!” I cried, not loudly this time, for though I was like one possessed with rage, it was inward rage, “go to your kennels!  Will you dare to raise a hand against a Caylus?  Go—­or when the Vicomte returns, a dozen of you shall hang in the market-place!”

I suppose I looked fierce enough—­I know I felt no fear, only a strange exaltation—­for they slunk away.  Unwillingly, but with little delay the group melted, Bezers’ following—­of whom I knew the dead man was one—­the last to go.  While I still glared at them, lo! the street was empty; the last had disappeared round the bend.  I turned to find Gil and half-a-dozen servants standing with pale faces at my back.  Croisette seized my hand with a sob.  “Oh, my lord,” cried Gil, quaveringly.  But I shook one off, I frowned at the other.

“Take up this carrion!” I said, touching it with my foot, “And hang it from the justice-elm.  And then close the gates!  See to it, knaves, and lose no time.”

CHAPTER II.

The Vidame’s threat.

Croisette used to tell a story, of the facts of which I have no remembrance, save as a bad dream.  He would have it that I left my pallet that night—­I had one to myself in the summer, being the eldest, while he and Marie slept on another in the same room —­and came to him and awoke him, sobbing and shaking and clutching him; and begging him in a fit of terror not to let me go.  And that so I slept in his arms until morning.  But as I have said, I do not remember anything of this, only that I had an ugly dream that night, and that when I awoke I was lying with him and Marie; so I cannot say whether it really happened.

At any rate, if I had any feeling of the kind it did not last long; on the contrary—­it would be idle to deny it—­I was flattered by the sudden respect, Gil and the servants showed me.  What Catherine thought of the matter I could not tell.  She had her letter and apparently found it satisfactory.  At any rate we saw nothing of her.  Madame Claude was busy boiling simples, and tending the messenger’s hurts.  And it seemed natural that I should take command.

There could be no doubt—­at any rate we had none that the assault on the courier had taken place at the Vidame’s instance.  The only wonder was that he had not simply cut his throat and taken the letter.  But looking back now it seems to me that grown men mingled some childishness with their cruelty in those days—­days when the religious wars had aroused our worst passions.