Horse-play had become a matter of blows followed by threats of arrest and dark hints at heresy, rebellion and the Inquisition: the mêlée was at its height when Mark interfered. Several blows were still exchanged after that, and there was a good deal of swearing and mutual objurgation. Lenora, listening, wondered with what skill Mark gradually made those curses turn to facetious remarks--ill-natured at first and uncouth--then more light-hearted, and finally grudgingly pleasant. Within five minutes the tumult began to subside: Lenora could hear the women weeping and the soldiers laughing quite good-humouredly. How it had all been done she did not know: presently from the tramping of feet she gathered that the mêlée had broken up: a woman’s voice said loudly: "_Gott vergelte!_" and Lenora thought that indeed God would repay the light-hearted man of the world who had by sheer good-humour and compelling personality turned a drama into pleasing farce. "Well, friend!" she heard a man’s voice saying in Spanish, "I don’t know who you are, but a right good fellow; an I’m not mistaken. Perhaps it was wisest to leave those women alone." "I am sure of it, friend," quoth Mark gaily, "the commandant oft makes a to-do about street-brawling, and you might have been blamed and got two days’ guard-room arrest just for kissing a pair of Flemish wenches. The game was not worth the candle. Even the devil would have no profit in it." "Well said, mate," retorted the other lustily, "come and have a mug of ale on it with me and my men at the ’Duke’s Head’ down yonder." "Thank you, friend, but I put up at the ’Merry Beggars’ and must return thither now. A little later perhaps." "At your service, comrade." There was a pause during which Lenora made up her mind--since all tumult and all danger had passed--to go back to that ingle-nook beside the fire and there to wait till Mark returned ... to wait so that she might resume with him that conversation of awhile ago which had interested her so much. But on the point of turning she halted. Three words--spoken by one of the soldiers--had come to her out of the gloom, and caused her heart to stop its beating. "You are hurt?" one man had said--in a kind, gruff way--evidently in deep concern. "No! no! it’s nothing," Mark replied, "a small scratch ... in the scuffle just now...." "But you are bleeding...." "And if I am, friend, it won’t be the first time in my life. I tell you it’s nothing," added Mark with obvious impatience. "Good-night!" "Good-night!" came in chorus from the men. V The measured tramp of booted feet slowly dying away in the distance down the narrow street, told Lenora that at last the men had gone. But Mark was hurt and she stood waiting at the street corner for she heard his step coming slowly toward her.