'You see it,' he said laconically.
'And a poor welcome!' I replied.
He flamed into sudden passion at that. Leaning with
both his hands on the table he thrust his rugged face
and blood-shot eyes close to mine. His moustachios
bristled, his beard trembled.
'Hark ye, sirrah!' he muttered, with sullen emphasis,
'be content! I have my suspicions. And if it were not
for my lady's orders I would put a knife into you, fair
or foul, this very night. You would lie snug outside,
instead of inside, and I do not think anyone would be
the worse. But as it is, be content. Keep a still
tongue; and when you turn your back on Cocheforet
to-morrow keep it turned.'
'Tut! tut!' I said--but I confess that I was a little
out of countenance. 'Threatened men live long, you
rascal!'
'In Paris!' he answered significantly. 'Not here,
Monsieur.'
He straightened himself with that, nodded once, and went
back to the fire; and I shrugged my shoulders and began
to eat, affecting to forget his presence. The logs on
the hearth burned sullenly, and gave no light. The poor
oil-lamp, casting weird shadows from wall to wall,
served only to discover the darkness.
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