door of the room in which we had supped in time to see something
which filled me with grim astonishment; so much so that I stood
rooted where I was, too proud at any rate to interfere.

Bezers was standing, the leering priest at his elbow. And
Croisette was stooping forward, his hands stretched out in an
attitude of supplication.

"Nay, but M. le Vidame," the lad cried, as I stood, the door in
my hand, "it were better to stab her at once than break her
heart! Have pity on her! If you kill him, you kill her!"

The Vidame was silent, seeming to glower on the boy. The priest
sneered. "Hearts are soon mended--especially women's," he said.

"But not Kit's!" Croisette said passionately--otherwise ignoring
him. "Not Kit's! You do not know her, Vidame! Indeed you do
not!"

The remark was ill-timed. I saw a spasm of anger distort Bezers'
face. "Get up, boy!" he snarled, "I wrote to Mademoiselle what
I would do, and that I shall do! A Bezers keeps his word. By
the God above us--if there be a God, and in the devil's name I
doubt it to-night!--I shall keep mine! Go!"

His great face was full of rage. He looked over Croisette's head
as he spoke, as if appealing to the Great Registrar of his vow,
in the very moment in which he all but denied Him. I turned and
stole back the way I had come; and heard Croisette follow.