For a moment the Frenchman seemed inclined to burst forth into fresh vituperations. He bit his nails, glaring, and took a quick turn about the room. "You use me ungraciously!" he flung over his shoulder. "Well-a-day!" said Sir Nicholas ironically. Monsieur took yet another turn, seemed again to choke back some hasty utterance, and at length forced a smile. "Well, I will not quarrel with you," he said, "You would find it very difficult," nodded Sir Nicholas. Monsieur opened his mouth, shut it again, and swallowed hard. "Permit me to share your board," he said at last. "With all my heart, youngling," Sir Nicholas answered, but there had come a watchful gleam into his eyes. But the Frenchman seemed to cast aside his evil-humours in good sooth. True, he railed a little at ill-fortune, but was forward with plans for the acquisition of a horse upon the morrow. The plague was on it he could scarce hope to get across the Frontier now for two days. As he remembered the town lay many leagues behind--but he would not complain. He pledged Beauvallet in a brimming cup. Supper being at an end, monsieur grew restless, complained of the ill-entertainment, pished at the poor light afforded by two tallow candles, and at length proposed an encounter with the dice, if such might chance to jump with monsieur's humour. "Excellent well," said Beauvallet, and banged on the table with his empty cup to summon back the landlord. Dice were brought, more wine was set upon the table, and the evening bade fair to be merry. The dice rattled in the box. "A main!" said monsieur. Beauvallet called it, and cast the dice. Monsieur rattled the bones, and threw a nick. Coins were pushed across the greasy boards; fresh wine was poured; the two men bent over the table, absorbed in the game. It was a merry evening enough. The candles burned low in their sockets; the wine passed freely, and more freely yet; money changed hands, back and forth. At last one of the candles guttered dismally, and went out. Beauvallet thrust back his chair, and passed a hand across his brow. "Enough!" he said, somewhat thickly. "God's me, after midnight already?" He rose unsteadily, and stretched his arms above his head. This made for a slight stagger. He laughed. "Cup-shotten!" he said, and laughed again, and swayed a little on his toes. The Frenchman sprang up, steady enough upon his feet, but flushed, and somewhat wild-eyed. He had not drunk as much as Beauvallet. "A last toast!" he cried, and slopped more wine into the empty cups. "To a speedy journey, say I!" "God save you!" said Beauvallet. He drank deep, and sent the empty cup spinning over his shoulder to crash against the wall behind him. "One candle between the two of us." He picked it up, and the hot tallow dripped on to the floor. "Up with you, youngling." He stood at the foot of the rickety stairs, holding the candle unsteadily aloft. The dim light flickered over the steps; the Frenchman went up, with a hand against the wall.