"They mocked him, father." She pulled the boy from behind a grave-stone
where he crouched unmoving as a rabbit, and showed him to her guardians.
"See how weak he is! Regard him--how he walks in a dream! Look at his
swollen wrists--he cannot fight. And if you wish to make these English
respect you you have got to fight them!"

"Where is Ernestine? She should not have left you alone."

"Ernestine went to the shops to obey your orders, father."

The boy's dense inertia was undisturbed by what had so agonized the
girl. He stood in the English sunshine gazing stupidly at her guardians.

"Who is this boy, Eagle?" exclaimed the younger man.

"He does not talk. He does not tell his name."

The younger man seized the elder's arm and whispered to him.

"No, Philippe, no!" the elder man answered. But they both approached the
boy with a deference which surprised Eagle, and examined his scarred
eyebrow and his wrists. Suddenly the marquis dropped upon his knees and
stripped the stockings down those meager legs. He kissed them, and the
swollen ankles, sobbing like a woman. The boy seemed unconscious of this
homage. Such exaggeration of her own tenderness made her ask,

"What ails my father, Cousin Philippe?"

Her Cousin Philippe glanced around the high walls and spoke cautiously.