It was M. Savary dit Detricand.

"Whew--what fools there are in the world! Pish, you silly apes!" the
young man said, glancing through the open doorway again to where the
connetable's men were dragging two vile-looking ruffians into the Vier
Prison.

"What's happened, monsieur?" said Ranulph, closing the door and bolting
it.

"What was it, monsieur?" asked Guida anxiously, for painful events had
crowded too fast that morning. Detricand was stanching the blood at his
temple with the scarf from his neck.

"Get him some cordial, Guida--he's wounded!" said de Mauprat.

Detricand waved a hand almost impatiently, and dropped upon the veille,
swinging a leg backwards and forwards.

"It's nothing, I protest--nothing whatever, and I'll have no cordial, not
a drop. A drink of water--a mouthful of that, if I must drink."

Guida caught up a hanap of water from the dresser, and passed it to him.
Her fingers trembled a little. His were steady enough as he took the
hanap and drank off the water at a gulp. Again she filled it and again
he drank. The blood was running in a tiny little stream down his cheek.
She caught her handkerchief from her girdle impulsively, and gently wiped
it away.