“That is true,” said Louis quietly.  “Why so many words?”

But the Vidame went on as if he had not heard.  “I did not leave you to them,” he resumed, “and yet I hate you—­more than I ever hated any man yet, and I am not apt to forgive.  But now the time has come, sir, for my revenge!  The oath I swore to your mistress a fortnight ago I will keep to the letter.  I—­Silence, babe!” he thundered, turning suddenly, “or I will keep my word with you too!”

Croisette had muttered something, and this had drawn on him the glare of Bezers’ eyes.  But the threat was effectual.  Croisette was silent.  The two were left henceforth to one another.

Yet the Vidame seemed to be put out by the interruption.  Muttering a string of oaths he strode from us to the window and back again.  The cool cynicism, with which he was wont to veil his anger and impose on other men, while it heightened the effect of his ruthless deeds, in part fell from him.  He showed himself as he was—­masterful, and violent, hating, with all the strength of a turbulent nature which had never known a check.  I quailed before him myself.  I confess it.

“Listen!” he continued harshly, coming back and taking his place in front of us at last, his manner more violent than before the interruption.  “I might have left you to die in that hell yonder!  And I did not leave you.  I had but to hold my hand and you would have been torn to pieces!  The wolf, however, does not hunt with the rats, and a Bezers wants no help in his vengeance from king or CANAILLE!  When I hunt my enemy down I will hunt him alone, do you hear?  And as there is a heaven above me”—­he paused a moment—­“if I ever meet you face to face again, M. de Pavannes, I will kill you where you stand!”

He paused, and the murmur of the crowd without came to my ears; but mingled with and heightened by some confusion in my thoughts.  I struggled feebly with this, seeing a rush of colour to Croisette’s face, a lightening in his eyes as if a veil had been raised from before them.  Some confusion—­for I thought I grasped the Vidame’s meaning; yet there he was still glowering on his victim with the same grim visage, still speaking in the same rough tone.  “Listen, M. de Pavannes,” he continued, rising to his full height and waving his hand with a certain majesty towards the window—­no one had spoken.  “The doors are open!  Your mistress is at Caylus.  The road is clear, go to her; go to her, and tell her that I have saved your life, and that I give it to you not out of love, but out of hate!  If you had flinched I would have killed you, for so you would have suffered most, M. de Pavannes.  As it is, take your life—­a gift! and suffer as I should if I were saved and spared by my enemy!”

Slowly the full sense of his words came home to me.  Slowly; not in its full completeness indeed until I heard Louis in broken phrases, phrases half proud and half humble, thanking him for his generosity.  Even then I almost lost the true and wondrous meaning of the thing when I heard his answer.  For he cut Pavannes short with bitter caustic gibes, spurned his proffered gratitude with insults, and replied to his acknowledgments with threats.