e him lower his voice, and the
whispering continued.

Pierrebon heard no more. That there was danger in the air he knew. He
had not forgotten my warning pressure on his arm as we entered the
gates of Le Jaquemart, and now his worst fears were confirmed. For a
moment his heart sank, but for a moment only, for as he looked around
him his eyes fell on the arquebus, where it leaned against the wall.
The fuse was still alight. There was no time to hesitate. Malsain was
already returning; and if it were to be war Pierrebon thought he might
as well begin, and strike the first blow. Quick as thought he arose,
and taking up the arquebus moved off near the horses, and he was
blowing on the match to hearten the fire when Malsain stepped in.

"Blood of a Jew! what are you doing with the arquebus, fool? Put it
down this instant, or I slit your throat." And Malsain, his poniard in
his hand, stood near the table, glaring savagely at Pierrebon.

"Pardon!" said Pierrebon. "I was but looking at it. 'Tis a noble
weapon. And one well suited to a soldier's hand."

"It could kill too, I wager," said Pierrebon, laughing, as he raised
the weapon, and pointed it at Malsain, who went back the step he had
taken, saying, with an oath,

"It is loaded, fool! Put it down at once."

"_Hein_! it is loaded. It would kill, then, if I fired--eh?" And
then, with a sudden change of voice and manner: "Ah, bandit! move a
step, utter the slightest cry, and you are a dead man! Throw down your
poniard!"

Malsain looked at the barrel of the arquebus. It was steady as a rock,
and behind the little black muzzle the match burned bravely; whilst
behind the match was a red face with two blue eyes that looked as if
they meant what their owner said. Malsain let his dagger drop with a
clash.

Pierrebon then advanced a couple of paces nearer, still holding the
arquebus at Malsain's breast.

"Now, my friend! Take that bridle from the peg at your hand and fasten
your ankles together. What!--you hesitate?"

Malsain hissed something between his teeth, and snatched the bridle
from the peg.

"Go on! A running knot--lap it well round, and finish off! There!
That is right! You are no novice, I see, _mon vieux_!"

Malsain made no answer, but stood bolt upright before Pierrebon, his
face grey, his one eye bloodshot, his lips livid. It is true that he
had tied himself as loosely as possible, but still he was terribly
crippled; and from his sou